On Black Wings: Heroes' Rise
by Celtsarr Vicciniac
Summary: Ysvor Shadow-Blade, a well known Nord Mercenary, is approached by the Empire to help them capture Ulfric Stormcloak. Ysvor thinks it'll be a simple job but the sudden appearance of an Orc from the Oblivion Crisis sets forth a series of unbelievable adventures. The first of which involves dragons trying to enslave the mortal races. Ysvor must embrace his destiny to save the world.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys. I decided that I wasn't very happy with my previous attempt to write this thing. So, I decided to rewrite it and make it better! Also, this will involve the main plot but as I discovered on my last attempt I'm not suited to writing that kind of material. What is being put into this fic will mostly be my own take on things. If you don't like it then don't read it and we'll still be friends. **

**Disclaimer: I'm only saying it once. I own nothing within this fic that you may recognize!**

Ch. 1: Dark Skies

The sky boiled with a sickening hue of blood red and black, closely resembling the insides of a bubbling cauldron used by some demented witch. The air itself was stifling, boiling the poor sods that were forced to wear the thick plate armor favored by Orcish cavalry. The armor itself was triple layered, not a single one of which helped the intense heat. Even the banners of King Gortwog barely swayed in the arid air.

Two hundred horsemer sat at the ready, all armed to the teeth with various weapons and awaiting their captain's orders. In front of them lay a giant battlefield with mutilated Orcs and the corpses of several Daedra scattered here and there. Two massive gates stood, each one topped with fire and made of obsidian: the Gates of Oblivion. The scarred remains of at least four other gates were strewn about the killing grounds, evidence of a massive Daedric assault on the Orcish kingdom. Each Orc was fighting to their last to defend the city, piling the corpses ever higher: they need only last so long before the Dragonfires would be restored and the Daedric threat dealt with.

From the front of the column of Orcish cavalry, a single figure reined his horse in from his venture to the frontlines. The massive warhorse, clad in traditional Orcish plate armor, reared back, throwing a frightening shadow across the gathered company. Its rider was equally as massive in his heavy triple plate, a giant war axe waving over his head to arouse his men.

"Orcs of Orsinium!" the mighty voice boomed, heard easily even over the din of battle behind its source. "Dagon has made his last mistake! Today, he has struck at the heart of our people, cut us off from the world in the hopes that we shall surrender! But we are Orcs: We do not surrender, we conquer! Let us ride into this most glorious of battles and take this fight to the Daedric threshold! Our mission is to close one of those gates; Captain Durak shall take care of the other! Go, my comrades and may your win great honor for your kin!" A mighty roar followed his words as the Orcish Company took to their spurs and plunged into the battle. Captain Zhak, leader of them, was the first to wet his blade.

A cavalryman's longsword, gripped tight in his gauntleted fist, carved a bloody swathe through the Daedric tide. The first row of his Orcs carried lances which easily plowed their way through the bulk of their immortal foes. The other rows carried more individualized weapons, focusing more on cleaning up the destruction caused by the lancemen. Not a single Orc fell in battle as they drew upon the gate, the infantry closing the gap now that their attackers were disorganized. Zhak barely paused to consider the gate before he drove his men straight through it.

The wave of heat washed over him, its embrace familiar by now to the Orcs. On the other side was a typical view of the deadlands: rocky soil, jagged cliffs, and tons of lava. Zhak spared them but a single sweeping glance before he spurred his horse into action. A company of Dremora were approaching the gate and Zhak angled his course to cut through their midst. His men did not fail him and followed his mad plunge. War cries ripped the air asunder as magic flew through the ranks of the cavalry, this being the first group to have time to prepare themselves for the titanic force of the Orcish charge.

Zhak watched as several of his Orcs were dismounted. They snarled and hacked at the Dremora around them with an unholy rage but succumbed to numbers in the end. Zhak snarled as he witnessed a particularly violent example. The Orc was blasted from their horse by a fireball and rolled across the ground, drawing a broadsword as they rose to their feet. Two Dremora fell to that blade before a battleaxe knocked aside the sword, taking most of the Orc's arms with it. Two others stepped in to plunge their own blades deep in their foes gut. Zhak raised his left hand, palm glowing with a powerful reddish glow. A massive ball of searing flames leapt from his palm, incinerating the killers in a powerful explosion that had the bonus result of knocking several Dremora off their feet.

Zhak felt more than saw the ground under his own horse balloon up under the power of a fireball. His warhorse was killed in the explosion and Zhak deftly leapt from the saddle, no mean feat when wearing heavy plate armor. His extended longsword swept the head from a Dremora before his boots had touched the ground. Ball lightning cleared his immediate vicinity, giving him time to assess the situation. A long glance told him all that he needed to know.

His mer were well trained and the plan was drilled into every one of their thick skulls. Even though their leader had fallen out of the main course of action, a small group pressed onwards towards the Sigil Keep while the bulk of his forces stayed behind to combat any threat. Even now, the bodies of Dremora were being tossed aside by the small group of still mounted Orcs. Those whom had been unhorsed were mounting an effective counterstrike and moving themselves toward the Gate, hacking bloody trails through the immortals.

Yet the Dremora had experience on their side and were giving as good as they got. Half of Zhak's Orcs had already fallen to Daedric steel. Zhak snarled and blasted another fireball at the nearest Dremora. He threw his heavy and ill-suited longsword like a cleaver, cutting down several Daedra, and drew his double-headed war axe. He sidestepped a blow from a mace, watching as the head tore a small crater in the ground before slashing through the Daedric plate. His sixth sense warned him to duck and it saved his life as a battleaxe rended the air just above his head.

Zhak spun, throwing his considerable weight into a spinning backfist that sent his overextended opponent to the barren ground before he could recover. Another Daedric blade barred Zhak's way, saving the life of the dazed warrior. Zhak locked blades with the savior, letting the curves of his axe carry his foes sword out of the way in a spinning strike that bisected the Dremora. He turned just in time to see a warhammer descending towards his face. His axe was too slow to block such an attack. Lightning erupted from his fingertips, throwing the fried warrior into several of his comrades who also fell prey to the chain lightning.

By now, most of the Orcs were bitterly fighting in front of the Gate, holding out to the last man to save as many of their comrades' lives as possible. Each one bore battered armor stained with the blood of Daedra and a vicious snarl that challenged the bastards to overcome them. The Daedra were all too happy to oblige and crashed into the defenders hard, looking for weak points in the line.

"Hold the line!" Zhak bellowed. "Don't give these bastards another inch!"

The Orcs, now fighting with several capable warriors watching each other's backs, proved indomitable. Their small force of forty survivors felled Daedra after Daedra, holding out against the remains of the Dremora Company. Just as victory seemed guaranteed, another company of Daedra entered Zhak's sight. His men noticed the reinforcements as did the Dremora, who fought with renewed vigor.

Zhak had long before accepted his death in this war. His snarl turned from ferocious to grim as his axe cleaved another skull open. He ripped the weapon free, intentionally showering himself in the warm blood in an attempt to intimidate the immortals. A mighty roar ripped free of his throat as several forms of powerful magic were launched at his group of Orcs. Balls of flame and lightning raced against spears of ice as the last of the Dremora fell.

The Orcs dodged as best they could, some even rolled through the Gate by accident. Zhak propelled himself at his enemy, coming out of his roll with several bolts of magic shooting towards the enemy mages. This group of Daedra seemed to carry far more races than the previous company; Dremora were hard to spot amongst these new challengers.

A clanfear hurled itself as Zhak, who batted it aside with a backhand. The heavy steel of the gauntlet easily cracked the lesser Daedra's skull and sent it tumbling down the ranks. A scamp met a similar end only this time the backhand led to a spin to build up the power of a slash which tore clean through the scaly hide of a Daedroth. It was here that Zhak met his greatest challenge yet. A sharp kick sent the massive Orc tumbling back, crushing a scamp in his wake.

Zhak allowed the roll to return him to his feet only to find himself face to face with a Xivilai wielding a poleaxe with one hand. Zhak took the time to study the seven foot tall Daedra, taking note of the incredible strength and bulging muscles in addition to the lack of armor. His grip on his war axe tightened as he subtly fortified himself with magic. He shot forward far faster than he normally could have, leaping in an attempt to gain as much power behind his first blow as possible.

The Xivilai charged forward with a shoulder charge. Catching Zhak completely unawares in midair and throwing the massive warrior over the Daedra's shoulder. He slammed hard into the ground, knocking what little air he had left out of him. He was given no respite as the Daedra was already bearing that long axe down on him. Zhak rolled to the left to avoid it and attempted to sweep the Xivilai's legs from under him. His attempt was thwarted when his heavily armored foot merely bounced off of the wards placed around his foe. The Daedra slammed its foot into Zhak's chest, again sending the warrior flying.

Zhak rose to his feet this time with a look of primal rage on his face. His berserker qualities were attempting to make themselves known but Zhak knew they would kill him for sure against such a foe. Zhak threw a powerful fireball at the Xivilai, rushing in as close to it as he could. As expected, the magic was dispelled before it even got close, but Zhak was close enough to launch his next attack. He threw his axe forward, punching through the surprised Daedra's protective wards and cutting through its shoulder. Scooping down, he picked up his original heavy cavalry sword.

The Xivilai roared in pain as its flesh was laid open for the first time in centuries possibly, its complete attention turned to its wound for a mere second. That second was all Zhak needed to run it through with his longsword. The look of utter shock on the face of the mighty warrior made Zhak's own grim features split apart in a savage smile. With a wordless war cry, the Orcish Captain ripped the blade free and spun, neatly decapitating the once deadly Daedra.

Not even bothering to retrieve his weapon yet, Zhak wielded the longsword with both hands, severing the heads of several scamps with a single sweep. He bashed another clanfear in its beaky mouth with the sword's hilt before disemboweling it in a backwards spin, taking him out of reach of the snapping jaws of an approaching Daedroth. The crocodile-headed Daedra tried to sweep Zhak with its tail but the Orc leapt over it, bringing his blade around in a slash across the monster's back. The Orc crushed the Daedra beneath his full weight as he fell upon the wounded beast. Hands slick with blood grabbed at a dagger before plunging it through the Daedroth's thick skull.

He rose again to a silent battlefield. His head snapped left and right as he tried in vain to find another survivor of the bloody battle. Yet all he was met with was death and the destruction wrought by powerful Destruction magic. He bowed his head in his only show of despair as the adrenaline began to wear off. His body was burning with weariness yet he knew he could not rest yet. To die here with their goal unaccomplished would be an insult to the Orcs who had sacrificed their lives to bring them this far. His downcast eyes detected movement on the field of battle, just barely within sight given the angle. A lone Dremora rose from under a pile of bodies, blood pouring from a gash in its thigh.

A quick spell cast by the Dremora resolved that problem. It then turned its focus to the only other living thing amidst the dead. With its magical aptitude revealed combined with the long horns above its brow, this Dremora had to be a Valkynaz, the most powerful of Dremora. Zhak readied himself for one final fight, his limbs screaming in protest. He was exhausted and unsure if he could survive such a battle in his peak condition, much less in his current state.

"Mortal." The Valkynaz grated in a harsh voice. "Your warriors today have shown great strength. But you cannot survive this next battle."

"We shall see." Zhak shot back at him. The Daedra bowed its head, as if in regret.

"It pains me greatly to destroy such a powerful foe amidst his weaker points. But it must be done."

The Valkynaz shouldered its shield and charged in low. Zhak leapt clear of its path but the Daedra sent a bolt of lightning chasing him. Zhak hastily threw up a barrier, which was promptly shattered as the Valkynaz barged through it, slamming itself against the Orc's torso. Zhak doubled over and, ignoring the pain, slammed the hilt of his longsword into the Daedra's back. The Daedra responded by attempting to gorge Zhak on one of those prominent horns but the plate armor turned aside the deadly headbutt.

Zhak spun and lashed out with a straight kick, knocking the Valkynaz flat on its back. He reared back with his longsword, looking to end it there, but the Daedra had other plans. Fire shot forth, licking dangerously at the Orc's armor. The force staggered the warrior long enough for the Dremora to regain its feet and attempt a slash at the Orc. Zhak slammed his longsword into his opponent's blade, sending it skyward and giving the Orc an opening. Zhak spun and stabbed for the weakness but was turned aside by the Daedra's shield.

Taking a step back gave the Dremora enough room to crack its shield against Zhak's head. The force sent the massive warrior stumbling back as his foe pressed the opening. A flurry of slashes were dodged or barely turned aside by the longsword as Zhak was forced back towards the Gate. He could feel the heat against his back, adding its strength to the fire burning in his arms. The longsword was finally beaten out of his grip and a boot was planted against his chest.

He was thrown to the ground again. He looked up as the powerful Daedra slowly walked up to him, observant of his great gasps and the sheer exhaustion racing through him. He grinned at his approaching death; Malacath would be pleased with the slaughter wrought here and would favor him in death. His head rolled to the side and he noticed he had fallen beside the Xivilai he had killed. He turned his eyes back towards the front, where the Daedra was still approaching at that slow, measured pace.

Casting his eyes back towards the Xivilai, he saw his axe next to the dead body of a scamp, who had obviously tried to wield the weapon itself. He began slowly crawling towards it as the Daedra again spoke.

"Accept your death, mortal. You fought valiantly but know is the time to surrender. You cannot possibly best me." The Daedra had at last drew alongside the fallen Orc. It raised the Daedric blade high, fully confident in its victory. As the blade began to fall, Zhak suddenly whipped around and buried his weapon deep within the abdomen of the Valkynaz. The Daedra's aim was thrown off and the sword cut across Zhak's ribs instead of his head. The Dremora stared in stunned silence until it finally fell first to its knees and then to the ground.

Zhak laid his head back on the barren ground, at last allowing himself to fully relax and succumb to the mind numbing exhaustion of his last few hours of exertion. He barely noticed the golden light which suddenly spilled from the Sigil Keep, nor the powerful roar as Dagon was utterly defeated by the relighting of the Dragonfires. All he could see was darkness….

**Whew at almost three thousand words that's a significant increase from the last chapter. I am quite happy with this for an introduction. Please tell me your thoughts on it. If I don't know that people are interested than I find it hard to write…**


	2. Chapter 2

**Here's the long awaited second chapter. I apologize for the long wait in between the updates but I was doing some heavy planning for this story. I know what the endgame is but I don't see the way to get to it yet. I've decided to break this story into three different arcs, maybe more in the future. This first Arc is the Skyrim Arc, where the main plot of the game counterpart will be explored and bended slightly in order to prepare the stage for the other Arcs. Unfortunately, this first Arc may seem heavy on a certain character, my dragonborn, but the main focus of the entire story is on Zhak. Enough talk, on to the story!**

**Ch. 2: Ambush Gone Wrong**

Ysvor Shadow-Blade slowly opened his eyes to allow the stinging of the sun's rays to enter his eyes. The silver irises slowly shrunk to accommodate the light. Ysvor groggily threw up his hand in a feeble attempt to thwart the intentions of the day. His efforts were utterly destroyed as an Imperial soldier sharply planted his boot in his ribs. Ysvor instinctively lashed out as the soldier retreated, taunting his sleepy senses with laughter.

"Rise and shine, sellsword! Time to earn your pay!" And the soldier retreated, his laughter still ringing in Ysvor's ears.

The mercenary rose, his woolen nightshirt unruffling itself as his sore body stretched. Apparently sleeping half off of your cot was very uncomfortable. He groaned rubbing his eyes in an attempt to rouse himself. When he felt confident in his awareness, he pulled himself to his feet. He began stripping out of his sleeping clothes and donning his clothspun tunic and leggings. He ran a quick hand through his disheveled hair before his mouth stretched apart in a huge yawn.

He moved himself to the entrance flap of his tent, intent upon finding a nearby river to wash himself in. Casting a hand to shield his eyes, he swept the flap back. Snow lay draped over the entire forest that they had camped in, multiplying the effects of the sun ten-fold. The wind snapped at Ysvor's tunic, lashing it across his skin with its cold fury.

As a Nord, Ysvor had a natural resistance to cold weather. Compared to the fields of Dawnstar, this was considered mild weather. Ysvor could not hide his grin as he observed the Imperials hurrying about, wrapped in heavy cloaks and thick robes. He scoffed as he made his way through the large camp, if only for the fact that the legionnaires had come to Skyrim unprepared for the harsh climate.

The reason such a large force had crossed the border into Skyrim was because a report was filed claiming Ulfric Stormcloak, leader of the Stormcloak rebels, had been seen operating in the area. A small scout team had been dispatched immediately to confirm the report, a mission which yielded positive results. A plea for reinforcements had been sent to Cyrodil requesting that Imperial troops be dispatched. The reasoning, Ysvor mused, was that troops moving through Cyrodil would have escaped Ulfric's notice whereas an attempt to capture him in Skyrim would have been easily discovered.

Ysvor continued to dwell on such topics as he bathed, washing the dirt from his body absentmindedly. He again remembered the day that soldiers had shown up in the tavern in Whiterun, demanding the assistance of all able bodied swords for hire to help them capture Ulfric once and for all. They paid him personally an extravagant price to obtain the services of his Shadowblade. Word of his exploits in Skyrim was famous it seemed, enough so to reach even Imperial ears in the Imperial City.

He shook himself, berating his lack of focus on the present. One too many times had he nearly been killed by his lack of attention to his current circumstances. This refocusing allowed him to hear the rustling in the brush behind him. He continued to bathe, now lathering his well-muscled chest making sure to get the soap under his sodden chest hair. Or so it seemed to his observer.

While not one to prefer the arcane arts, Ysvor had done his share of spellcasting. His personal favorite form was telekinesis. It allowed him to manipulate his enemy in a way otherwise impossible. To a highly dangerous and, in certain areas, highly wanted mercenary such a talent was truly a blessing.

It was this talent now that the Nordic spellsword decided to put into play. Casting his magic behind him, Ysvor gripped the trespasser in a mental hold as strong as steel. He violently snatched the person from the brush and deposited them in the river just in front of him. He conjured himself a sword which he quickly pressed against the emerging figure's throat.

The offender was actually an Imperial soldier dressed in the usual thick, cotton dress of men off duty. His brown eyes stared onto the silver ones, fear shining abundantly. The silver eyes were like steel, cold and hard and clearly sent across the message that Ysvor was not to be disturbed. The Nord narrowed those steely orbs and growled out his question.

"What are you doing, soldier? Can't you see I'm bathing or does the sight of naked, burly men appeal to you?" Ysvor's voice was smooth and deep, carrying little of his Nordic accent across. In those words was an unspoken promise of pain if the Imperial continued to invade upon his private life. The soldier gulped before stammering his way into a reply.

"I-I…I was just curious, sir."

"Curious of what?" Ysvor's tone took on an edge and the grip upon his conjured blade tightened.

"The stories…Are they true? So much is said of you, of the Shadowblade you carry. Your adventures seem impossible so I…just thought to ask you myself." Ysvor bared his teeth in frustration. His past was not a subject he breached with himself much less a stranger in the Imperial army.

"Get lost, boy, before I decide to gut you like a pig. And next time, ask me when I'm NOT doing something!" Ysvor threw the young soldier over his soldier, using his magic to send him flying back into the camp. He may be getting paid by the Imperials but that didn't mean they were privy to his life story.

He made his way back to his tent shortly after that, his former decent mood replaced with a sour disposition. He reached under the cot and pulled out a small mirror he used to trim his beard with. Looking at his reflection, his mood rose slightly. He considered himself quite attractive but that could have merely been his ego telling himself that. He was certainly unusual for sure.

His midnight black hair was cut into a warrior's mohawk with two long braids twisting their way from the back of his head to drape over his shoulders. He had an average brow marked with the snowy tip of a replica cross that covered his face. The darkness of his hair combined with the brightness of his tattoo to make his silver eyes stand out further. But the eyes themselves held a piercing quality, as if they could see you and all that made you up and every way to destroy you. They were the eyes of a predator, constantly seeking weakness to be exploited.

His nose was thick but that was common with Nords. His mouth was a thin and pale scar etched into his ebony goatee. The left side of his face bore several scars, enough to keep his facial hair from growing on that side. The scars told of countless battles with both man and beast. He ran a hand over a scar that was given to him by a former Khajit warlord, remembering that particular battle as the fight to almost kill him. In respect of his scars, the right side of his face was kept clean shaven through magical means.

Once he was done with trimming his beard, Ysvor cast his gaze across his armor. Forged from the highest quality ebony he could find, the armor was as dark as his hair and its heavy plate design was quite intimidating upon the six foot seven inches of powerful muscle that it covered. The gear was hand forged by Ysvor himself and bore several of his personal touches: curved spikes on the shoulder pauldrons and an engraved chestplate were but a few of his alterations. Ysvor had even gone to the College of Winterhold to have the armor enchanted to increase its strength and decrease its weight.

But the prize of his collection was the Shadowblade, the sword which had given him his bloody title. The blade was forged of a unique ebony ore that Ysvor had yet to see in his many adventures. The unique ore shared the qualities of traditional ebony ore but was white in color. The sword itself was a fair length of about three feet and had a slight curve near the point of the blade, almost resembling an Akaviri style katana. Ysvor had taken the blade from an ancient burial ground deep beneath the Jerall Mountains, when he had been paid to ensure the safety of an excavation crew.

Placing the mirror back under his bed, he began to suit himself in the lightweight plate armor. The process was made easier by his years of practice; he was thirty-two in years and had spent twenty of them as a mercenary. Once finished with his armor, he buckled his sword belt on and strode from the tent, the Shadowblade and his helmet tapping his greaves from their respective locations upon his belt.

He made his way through the camp again, heading toward the Legate's tent so as to discuss his mission. Imagine his surprise when Legate Rikki stepped out of the tent looking ready for combat. She waved him over with an impatient gesture. Ysvor deliberately took his time to cover the remaining distance. He hated the Imperials for their smugness in _his_ province but as long as the pay was good he would submit.

"Ysvor, ready yourself. Ulfric is camped about three miles south of here. We march at once to surround him but we shall wait until nightfall to attack. I hope that we may catch them unawares and end the struggle without much hassle." And with that she was off, barking orders and readying the men to mobilize. Ysvor smiled for the time had finally arrived for him to earn his pay.

A few miles away in a remote hut overlooking a cliff, a soft glow emanated from the single window. Inside of the house a solitary figure, an alchemist if his tattered robes and the plants strewn around where any indication was attempting a ritual. Long years of study and experimenting had led him to this point and his task was made no less dangerous. The ritual was designed to summon an unbound Dremora, a feat never before accomplished in magical history.

Strange words were spoken by the alchemist over an altar made of candles and fleshy sacrifices. The eerie light rose in intensity to match the indistinguishable melody. The air became thick with a morbid feeling of tension as sweat trickled down the brow of the alchemist. At last, when he began to feel the spell was becoming too costly upon him, the ritual reached a crescendo.

A flash of light illuminated the room, leaving traces of half seen objects. And just as quickly as it had come, it was gone like a flash of lightning. Accompanying the flash was a deep boom that shook the rafters of his hut, sending years of dust and dirt tumbling down upon his shoulders. A wave of heat washed over him, physically throwing him into the side of his hut. His head connected with a wooden table and he saw spots at the edges of his sight. And, as suddenly as the light had come and gone, the ritual ended.

Lying there for a few more seconds collecting his thoughts, the alchemist slowly began pulling himself to his feet. He grabbed the back of an armchair in order to steady his shaky knees. He felt the blood trickle down the side of his face but paid it no mind. Not daring to hope, he quickly glanced at the makeshift altar.

Standing where before had been empty space was now a terrifying figure. Easily seven foot of thick plate armor encased whatever he had summoned. Spikes jutted from several locations in an intimidating manner. Even the helmet was made frightening with two thin slits for the eyes and naught else but seamless metal. From those two slits, a pair of eyes gazed out. The coldness in those bright blue eyes made him feel as if he were deep beneath the sea drowning in the frigid water. Yet despite all that, the thing most unnerving was that this nightmarish creature was coated in a thick layer of black blood.

The reason the blood was so unnerving was because in all the many books the alchemist had read only Daedra had black blood. Defeating any type of Daedra was a feat that normal people did not accomplish. And to be covered with the stuff spoke of several Daedric deaths. Not daring to move, the alchemist quickly considered his options. Those frozen eyes held his for a full minute before the monster suddenly fell forward.

Staring in shock, the alchemist took several moments before he was able to respond. Cautiously approaching the fallen creature, he grabbed a steel blade from a nearby worktable. He inched his way forward, every sense on full alert for any indication that the thing was going to attack. His brow furrowed as he noticed a pool of blood quickly spreading outward from the armored figure.

He crossed the remaining distance rapidly before rolling it on its back. A previously unnoticed gash in the armor across the stomach allowed the blood to leak from its body. Whatever this thing was it was gravely wounded. Perhaps it was some new form of Daedra that was previously undiscovered. He would become famous for having discovered it.

In his eagerness to acquire said fame, he failed to notice the creature sneaking its hand up behind him. A strong grip on the back of his throat brought him back to the present. The hand was so large it nearly reached around his entire neck! The thing began pulling his face towards it helmet covered one. A single phrase escaped the creature's mouth, sounding dry and hoarse.

"Heal…me…please."

The hand slipped off of his neck rather abruptly. The alchemist realized the thing must have been in worse shape than he had thought. He raised his hands as they began to glow a soft blue color. The healing spell immediately went to work stitching the skin back together and stopping the blood loss. He left the armor as it were for he could do little to improve its condition.

Several long and tense minutes later the alchemist began to think that he had been simply too late. Curiosity getting the better of him, he raised his hand to take off the creature's helmet. AS his fingers touched the cool metal, his hand was suddenly trapped in a vice like grip. The creature threw him aside almost instinctively. The alchemist managed to keep his feet and only staggered slightly.

The thing began to slowly regain its feet, first rolling on to its stomach and then pushing itself up laboriously. The alchemist began to move to provide support but was silently waved off. After several moments of struggle, the armor clad thing stood tall its impressive height easily dwarfing the far smaller alchemist. It turned that chilling stare towards him once again, the ice in his eyes thawing slightly as he looked the alchemist up and down. The smaller alchemist suppressed a shudder; it felt like he was being sized up.

The creature concluded its analysis and cast its gaze around the hut. Spotting a table with more than one chair, he made his way over to it. The alchemist followed, being extra careful not to make a sound. He felt as if this thing would turn on him at the slightest distraction for some reason. As the creature sat itself in one chair it began speaking in a voice that was deep enough to vibrate the floorboards under his feet.

"My thanks for saving my life." It reached up and slowly loosened the helmet. "As courtesy dictates, I am Captain Zhak gro-Nurzhuk leader of the Twenty-Second Heavy Orcish Calvary Division." Underneath that helm lied the unmistakable face of an Orc. Pale green skin, a flat and broad nose, and two vicious looking tusks made up his facial features. His midnight blue hair, previously covered, was done in traditional Orcish war braids. Here he paused, expecting the magician to give his name in return.

"I…. My name is Calco. I live out here in the deep forest and try to understand life in general. I was actually in the middle of a ritual when you showed up." He replied hesitantly, unsure if he should lower his guard around this Orc. Zhak merely raised an eyebrow and posed the expected question.

"What ritual?"

"I was attempting to summon an unbound Dremora, a feat that has yet to be accomplished." It was then that the realization struck him that he would not acquire fame for his success. He had summoned an Orc, not a Daedra as was his intention. "The question however is how did I summon you instead?"

"I have a theory." The Orc replied bowing his head as he gathered his words. He raised it soon enough, his eyes locking on to Calco's own. "My men and I were given a very important assignment: To prevent the opening of any Oblivion Gates." Calco's brow furrowed here but he let Zhak continue. "We were some of the best warriors that King Gortwog had but we were not the only squads assigned to this duty. Three other squads were given the same orders as us." The Orc cast his gaze out of the nearby window. Calco suddenly realized that the flash he had seen earlier may have been lightning as it was now raining. "That day was a day of much glory for us. We fought from dawn to late in the afternoon, successfully closing off dozens of gates. My men and I stuck to the actual combat as few gates spawned near our position. However, one squad failed to close a Gate for they did not return.

There were now twice as many foes to kill and we were beginning to feel the full effect of a long day of fighting. We merely wished to hold out until the last Septim heir could trounce Dagon's Daedra. If he failed, we would be doomed for sure. As we were struggling to reorganize another squad to close the other gate, yet another Gate opened. We assumed the worst of the third squad that they too had failed to destroy their Gate. Our suspicions were proven when the three Gates suddenly crumbled as one and a Great Gate took their place.

I withdrew my men as hundreds of Daedra poured from the massive structure. I made sure they were well equipped and ready for the dangerous mission I planned to lead them on. Once that was done, I led my men into the Great Gate, where we fought and slayed scores of the damned beasts. I was mortally wounded in the fighting and my men continued on to close the Gate." He brought his attention back to the alchemist.

"Given that this task, this ritual, is a never before accomplished ordeal, I believe that the fact that I almost died in Oblivion as the portal between our two worlds closed put me in a limbo between them. When you tried unsuccessfully to summon a Daedra, your spell lacked the required power to snag a Dremora so it picked up the strongest being it could: Me."

Calco simply sat there with a look of total disbelief on his face. This Orc was delirious! He believed he had fought in the Oblivion Crisis almost two hundred years ago! Even for an Orc, that was a long time. He shook his head slowly to clear his head and gave the Orc a studious look.

"How do I know you're telling me the truth? Your story sounds like the scheme of an insane person." Zhak leaned back in his chair and thought to himself. How could he? He had no items-wait! He reached under his armor into a protected pocket and pulled out his orders,, signed by King Gortwog himself.

"These are the orders I was given. They should suffice to sate your distrust."

"This is impossible. This has to be a joke." Calco said his hand quivering as he read through the orders. He looked back up at Zhak with fear on his face. He raised a finger and pointed it weakly in the Orc's direction. "The Oblivion crisis has been over for centuries now!"

Zhak's brow furrowed in confusion as his eyes narrowed. "What year is it?"

"It's the two-hundred and first year of the fourth era; the seventeenth of Morndas actually." His eyes travelled again to the slip of paper in his hands. "This cannot be! It must be some cruel joke or a twisted dream!"

Zhak rose from his seat and placed a hand on Calco's shoulder. The massive Orc forced alchemist against the back of the chair he was sitting in, bringing his green face mere inches from the raving one of the alchemist. He spoke slowly and clearly to ensure that his words got through.

"Whether you believe me or not does not matter. You have inadvertently assisted me and for that you have my thanks." He released his hold upon Calco's shoulder and drew himself back up his full height. He reached for the helmet on his belt before pausing and glancing at his belt. He shook his head before he spoke once more. "I believe it best if I take my leave now before I cause you any more problems.'

With that Zhak pulled his helm back on and headed towards the door, leaving the flabbergasted alchemist sitting in the same place. Along the way to the door, he took a quick glance around the hut's interior. He spied what he was looking for: a steel broadsword in its sheath. While not his favored weapon, having the sword was better than having to fight with his summoned weapons which were susceptible to dispelling magic.

Taking a peak over his shoulder, a move that in his full armor forced him to turn his entire torso, he saw that Calco was still staring off into space. He shrugged to himself and snatched up the blade. As he walked through the door, he slipped into an open spot on his belt, a place that had formerly held his beloved war axe now lost in Oblivion. Casting an eye at the sky, he deduced that it was nearing dusk. With that thought in mind, he began to look for a makeshift camp.

He could always go back inside the alchemist's hut but he was beginning to get a bad feel from that situation. Shaking his head from such wandering thoughts, he berated himself for his lapse in attention. The wandering mind was the dead mind or so his tutors had taught him all those yars ago. He huffed to himself and set off at a brisk jog eastward, back towards Orsinium if it still stood today.

Ysvor sighed to himself as he observed the Stormcloak camp. For former legionnaires, they sure didn't set up a very good perimeter. He counted only three patrols making rounds for a camp of nearly a hundred people. This would be almost too easy he told himself as he let a feral grin stretch across his face, hidden behind his full face helm.

He saw the soldier in charge of the squad he was with begin to draw back on his bow. Every man, including Ysvor, similarly drew their own bows. Ysvor had little difficulty pulling back the powerful ebony battle bow that he had only recently acquired from the Imperial blacksmith. An arrow fired from full draw would punch through all but the strongest of plate armor or so he had been told. He sighted one of the patrol men, aiming for a headshot to silence the rebel as did every Imperial soldier with a bow.

Their plan was simple. That was probably the reason Ysvor had such great faith in it; in his line of work, complicated plans often failed because a certain factor didn't turn out as expected. Their plan was to eliminate all guards firstly. Next they made their way silently through the camp and took up key positions within it. Lastly, they killed as many as they could before they surrendered. Short and sweet, just the way the merc liked his business.

They waited at full draw for several tense moments befor they were given the go ahead to snipe their targets. Ysvor's arrow punched a hole clean through the rebel's head, leaving a bloody streak in its path as the Stormcloak fell to the ground. They wasted no time in moving up, slinging their bows across their backs and drawing their swords instead. Ysvor cast a muffle spell on anyone within his range so as to reduce their chances of alerting their prey.

As he crept through their camp, Ysvor couldn't help but think about the morality of what he was doing. These Stormcloaks were regular people who were fighting to secure what they believed in. They were not essentially evil people and this what essentially not Ysvor's fight. So what right did he have to be here wit hthe Imperials, dealing death to his kinsmen? He forced such thoughts aside as he reminded himself that he was getting paid quite a sum to lend his assistance in destroying these rebels.

At last they were all in place. All was silent upon the field, the veil of night covering all but the fires' light. Ysvor grasped the tent in front of him around the opening, preparing himself for the battle about to come. With a savage cry, he swept the flap aside and rushed into the cramped tent. His sword's white blade was stained red as he stabbed it into the sleeping Nord's gut.

He moved to the next tent and repeated the process. The third tent was where he ran into his first problem. The Stormcloaks were beginning to rally by this point and the Nord waiting for him was armed with a giant warhammer. Ysvor dove outside to escape the hammer as it slammed against the snowy ground, throwing powdered snow into his face.

He scrambled back to his feet as the Nord charged, his hammer held over his shoulder. He waited until he saw the swing begin before he leapt at the Nord. Surprise splayed across the Stormcloak's face as his hammer sailed harmlessly under Ysvor. In return, the Shadowblade was run through that very same face an instant later.

A blow to his back while he was still airborne forced Ysvor to the ground again, his grip on his sword lost. He used the momentum from the blow to roll back onto his feet and had whipped the bow off of his back in the blink of an eye. An arrow followed barely a second later, perfectly nailing his attacker in the groin and forcing the man onto his knees. Ysvor grabbed his sword from the corpse of the first rebel and slashed the second's throat open. He felt his bloodlust rise as the warm liquid sprayed across the frozen ground.

He spun to find a sword wielding Stormcloak eyeing him warily. Ysvor dashed forward and lashed out with his sword. The white blade was turned aside by the steel one and the soldier swung his fist at Ysvor's helm. Ysvor leaned toward the fist; basically head butting the man's punch. As he withdrew with his injured hand, Ysvor used his magic to throw him through the crowd of fighting behind him. Not bothering to watch his landing, he spun his blade around his head. The move decapitated another rebel behind him.

Ysvor heard a war cry to his left and instinctively rolled out of the way. He was just in time as a battleaxe carved through the air right where he had been standing. The Stormclaok spun with the blow, using the momentum from the miss to bring the axe back over his head for a cleaving strike. Ysvor waited in tense anticipation for the move to place his foe off balance. When it was to late for the blow to be stopped or redirected, he quickly stepped to his left. The axe missed him by mere inches.

The Stormcloak tried to pull his blow but it was far too late to stop it. Instead he rolled forward over the axe using it as leverage. Ysvor narrowed his eyes; this man was well trained in using light armor. However, he was already dead from his first mistake. Ysvor moved behind him as he was airborne and reared his sword back. As the rebel's feet touched ground, he plunged the blade deep inside of his foe's gut, wrenching the blade sideways before ripping it out.

As the corpse fell forward, he was already seeking his next opponent. A Stormcloak wrapped in various furs swiped a sword at him. Ysvor ducked and hacked at the man but his white blade was stopped short. The fur cloaked man thrusted his shoulders forward putting Ysvor off balance. Ysvor allowed himself to fall, turning the momentum against the Stormncloak's intentions and regaining a stable footing rapidly. The man had rushed in seeking to capitalize on Ysvor's loss of balance. He was forced to spin left else he risked being skewered.

Ysvor lashed out with his foot but the man caught it. He grinned before throwing Ysvor to the ground. Ysvor grunted as his shoulder impacted harshly against the frozen soil. The force of the blow sent his sword flying out of his hand. He looked up to see the Stormcloak preparing to impale him, having also noticed the disarmament of his opponent.

Ysvor gritted his teeth and lashed out with his open palm, a spear made of ice launching itself with a flash of blue light. The ice spear punched a neat hole through the Stormcloak and had the added benefit of clipping another rebel in the arm. The wounded man was beheaded as he cried out and grasped at the slice in his arm. Ysvor pushed himself off of the ground, grumbling about his multiple collisions with the cold surface as he cast his gaze around for his weapon.

He spotted it several feet away imbedded in an Imperial soldier. Shaking his head at the irony, he weaved his way through the fighting until he was in arms length of his sword. Before he could reacquire it, another rebel stepped in front of him engaged in a fierce duel with an Imperial soldier. The Imperial spotted the trademark blade inside one of his shield-brothers and cried out in rage. He swiftly finished off his startled opponent and rounded on Ysvor with rage in his eyes.

Before Ysvor could attempt to explain the soldier had already swung at his head. He ducked, pulling a dagger from his boot. He lashed out with his fist and landed several blows upon the leather wrapped torso. The soldier swung around again, putting in way too much effort in his rage and leaving Ysvor with a clear opening to tackle him. Ysvor quickly subdued him and was just about to scream what had happened in the soldier's face when he felt cold steel on his arms.

The Imperials had found him attacking another soldier in the midst of the fighting. They must have it under control if they were daring to worry about capturing him. He opened his mouth to explain what had happened only to be struck across his temple by a sword hilt. The blow rendered him unconcious almost immediatley. His last thought was of what would happen now?

**Well, the long awaited second chapter is finished at last. Not much to say, I believe I explained everything in an understandable manner. If not PM me with questions. Next chapter starts the actual story of Skyrim with a few of my personal twists thrown in. I'll need to replay the early stages to refresh my memory so the next chapter may take a while again. By the way, sorry if the dates aren't official but I'm making my own timeline. **

**One more thing before I go. I should have said it in the first chapter but I forgot. I OWN NOTHING FROM THE ELDER SCROLLS story is for pure entertainment purposes.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Once again, I find myself on this website. Thanks for the few reviews that I've managed to acquire so far. Hopefully more will come as this story gains popularity. Anyway, not much to say this time. Updates may be slower as I replay through Skyrim, writing one chapter per mission in most cases. If you see something you don't understand or want explained further PM me. I did a lot of homework for this story so I know what I'm talking about. Leave me a review if you want.**

**Ch. 3: On Black Wings**

Ysvor abruptly jolted awake as his head was sharply tossed to the side. He snapped his eyes open and immediately narrowed them at the light. While his eyes struggled to refocus, he felt around with his other senses. Underneath him he could feel hard and cold wood rubbing against his threadbare clothing. He could smell the scents of several unwashed bodies around him overlaying the scents of a forest. He could hear a rumbling and creaking of wood on top of the crunching of snow and frozen grass. He was also aware of a slight buzzing in his head, as if he had had one too many bottles of mead.

Ysvor grunted as he finally dared to open his eyes to their fullest. He saw a winter forest in the background, snow which carpeted everything being responsible for his momentary blindness. He discovered that he was sitting in a wooden carriage led by a two-horse team and being escorted by the legionnaires that had betrayed him. With him in the carriage were several other prisoners: a Stormcloak, another Nord dressed in rags, and a finely dressed Nord with a gag. At the very back of the carriage was a monster of an Orc whom was apparently drugged judging by his half lidded eyes and unresponsive demeanor.

Ysvor blinked in confusion at his strange companions and opened his mouth to question such. The Stormcloak beat him to the punch and said in a heavily accented voice, "Finally awake, eh?" Ysvor shot this man a glare that could have melted the snow on his shoulders.

"Where are we?" he shot back. "And who the hell are you?" The rebel leveled his calculating gaze at the mercenary, his presently aware company also looking on with curious looks.

"My friend, where we are I do not know. We all have been recently awakened by this cursed trip. As for who I am, I am Ralof of Riverwood proud soldier of the true High King of Skyrim. We were ambushed at our base in Eastmarch. Damned Imperials had us outnumbered five to one!" Toward the end of his little speech, Ralof was looking at their carriage driver with unrestrained loathing in his eyes. All the driver did was tell them to shut up. Ralof returned his attention to Ysvor, his brow furrowed and a look of slight confusion on his face. "The question though is who are you? Your face seems familiar but it eludes me each time."

Bracing himself for what was about to happen, Ysvor declared in a clear and smooth voice, "I am Ysvor Shadow-Blade, the Black Angel and the Hero of the Marsh." Sudden understanding dawned across Ralof's face and his inquisitive gaze turned into an accusatory glare. Ysvor did not fail to notice the awed looks of the Nord in rags and the disappointed look of the other. The Orc couldn't have cared less.

"A traitor of your own people you are! You fight alongside the Imperial dogs!" The driver suddenly lashed behind him with his whip and expertly struck Ralof right across the cheek.

"I said shut up!" Ralof reeled from the blow as the driver resumed his task. Nursing the bleeding cheek Ralof began his tirade again only careful to keep his voice down.

"Why fight alongside those tyrants? Why fight against your own people?" Ysvor's face became blank as he dully looked at the Nord. He knew this passionate soldier would never understand his way of thinking and would definitely not appreciate his answer.

"Because they pay better." He said, ice creeping into his voice. As Ralof drew himself up for another attempt to sway Ysvor, he was rudely intercepted. "Look, I'm a mercenary. A sword for hire if you will. I don't give a damn about these people or your damned cause. I work for the highest bidder and that's that." Ralof settled down at his answer but there was still fire in his eyes.

"See, people like you and me, we don't belong here. It's the Stormcloaks the Empire wants not us common folk." The Nord in rags put in his two cents. "If not for them, I could have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell by now! Instead, I'm freezing my ass off on the way to gods know where!"

"You're a horse thief?" Ysvor inquired. At the nod he continued, "My brother started out as a horse thief. Last I heard," he continued, leaning back against the carriage's wall, "he had moved up in the world. Now he's some infamous, bandit warlord in High Rock terrorizing the poor Bretons." He flashed the horse thief a predatory grin. "I always hated my brother and, sequentially, horse thieves in general." Said thief swallowed nervously as he realized he had lost his only hope of support in this situation.

"I-I'm Lokir by the way." He mumbled out meekly, refusing to meet Ysvor's silver irises as they drilled their gaze into his skin. His attention was redirected as the Orc went through a noticeable change. He groaned and shook his head, midnight blue war-braids lashing out across his pale skin. He looked each of the passengers in the eyes before his gaze rested on the finely dressed Nord.

"Why is this man gagged when no one else is?" He asked in a deep voice that shook the carriage itself. Ralof shot him a reproachful look as if the Orc had just greatly offended him.

"Watch your tongue! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King of Skyrim!" As this interesting piece of news was revealed, Lokir violently started, his earlier unease forgotten.

"Ulfric?! By the Divines, if they've captured you…Where are they taking us?" The Orc rebuttal was halted by this outbreak as Ralof's head swiveled back to the front.

"Wherever we are headed, we shall see soon enough. Look there!"

Ysvor looked in the indicated direction and laid witness to a large military fort doubling as a village. Smoke rose from the chimneys and Imperial soldiers swarmed the battlements. No doubt vying to lay eyes on the prisoners captured earlier. All of this Ysvor dismissed for his curiosity was growing beyond his control over a certain issue.

"Orc-"

"My name is Zhak. I would prefer to be called by that, _Ysvor_." The Orc, Zhak, rumbled with an offended look by the lack of manners. Ysvor snarled but relented in the end.

"Very well. Zhak, I was present at the ambush and do not recall seeing you there. How did you get caught up in all of this?" Zhak bowed his head as he considered what would be safe to tell them.

"I was travelling the road away from Falkreath when I stumbled upon an Imperial scout team. They stopped and asked my business. Before I could reply, a lone…Stormcloak I believed you called them, lunged from the bushes. He was swiftly killed for his foolish charge and I was taken into custody on account of aiding rebels. I was trying to explain what had happened and that I was not with these rebels when one of the soldiers struck me in the back of the head. Next thing I know, I'm waking up here." Ysvor nodded satisfied with that answer for the time being. He had no time to talk further as they passed under the gates.

He heard a dim cry for a "General Tullius" and heard Ralof mumble something under his breath about the Thalmor accompanying the general. A sad look of nostalgia made itself known on Ralof's face and he looked at a particular section of the village-fort.

"This is Helgen. I used to be sweet on a girl from here. I wonder if she is still making that mead out of juniper berries." He scoffed to himself. "Funny, Imperial walls used to make me feel so safe as a kid. Never imagined that I would die like this, inside of a village that I know like the back of my hand executed by the good general himself." The cart was slowing down. Lokir looked around with barely restrained panic shining brightly in his eyes.

"Why are we stopping?" No one answered him until the cart came to a complete stop. That was when Ysvor leaned over, placing his face inches from the thief's. He gave him one last beastly grin and answered his fears.

"Why do you think? End of the line for us. At least try and meet your death with some honor." And with that, Ysvor pushed him out of the carriage. Lokir rolled across the ground until he was topped by Legate Rikki's foot. He quickly scrambled to his feet as she moved past, roughly seizing Ysvor by the collar and dragging him out as well.

He resisted her as best he could yet was forced to yield as she snatched him out of his seat. She harshly threw him to the ground and planted her foot into his gut with unnecessary force. She leaned in low over his down form as he clutched at her armored and very heavy foot.

"We paid you well. Trusted you even and you turned on us all! Death is too good for you, filth." Ysvor snarled and threw his weight to the left, pushing Rikki's foot to the right. The result was that the Legate fell to the ground directly across from him. Ysvor dragged himself on top of her as the soldiers began to attempt to drag him off of their commander. He paid them no mind other than swatting their hands away with his own binds and proceeded to pummel the legionnaire's face with his bound fists. An armored boot to the face sent him rolling backwards and he was violently shoved to his feet.

Legate Rikki collected herself and stormed over to him with rage in her eyes. As she reared back to strike him, a distant roaring sound reached their ears. Rikki stopped herself and looked around for a possible source of such a noise, confusion and a little bit of fear dominating her facial expression. Ysvor too cast about for the producer of that sound yet his search proved as fruitless as Rikki's. The Legate snarled at him and ordered him to be brought to the block. Ysvor was dimly aware of the other prisoner's acceptance of their execution, even the massive Orc who could have easily killed dozens of these soldiers with his bare hands.

Rikki dragged him the final few feet up to the headsman's platform. A priest of Arkay stepped forward to read him his last rights but was stopped short by his captor. "This scum doesn't deserve any last rights." She declared as she kicked his knees forward, forcing him to painfully drop onto his knees. He felt her plant his boot in his back but she was again stopped by that roaring noise. Again, she looked for a source but was unsuccessful once more.

"Get on with it!" Tullius yelled, finishing his personal speech to Ulfric about the grief he had been causing in Skyrim. Rikki nodded sharply and forced Ysvor's neck onto the block. She didn't have to be so rough though, for Ysvor's forehead smacked hard wood and he felt the blood began sliding down his face. He looked up at the headsman as he raised his axe, the world appearing reddish due to the blood leaking into his eye. Vaguely he could see the storm brewing over the man's head.

As the axe was raised high above him, he began to accept his death. He looked back through all of his memories deciding to relive his glory days. He saw the first time he wielded a blade under his father's teachings. He saw the love of his life in all of her majestic beauty once more. And once again he was forced to watch her burn in the fire started by an unknown party for unknown reason. He made peace with himself as the axe drew closer to his head, time seeming to slow.

It was because of this phenomenon that he was able to bear witness to the shadow that split itself from the mountain. He heard several soldiers cry out as the shadow approached at a near impossible speed, its features becoming more visible. The thing was massive at least a hundred foot long! Its head alone was the size of Ysvor and sprouted with two ivory horns. Its scarlet eyes burned with an inhumane menace and staring into their depths was to stare into the depths of Oblivion. Ysvor realized with a start that the beast wasn't a shadow; it was actually as black as night and several times more terrifying.

The beast crashed into the tower roosting upon the top and sending a physical shockwave that toppled the headsman. Before Ysvor could escape it opened its maw revealing dozens of sword-like teeth and unleashed an incredible roar. Such was the power in its voice the very sky itself darkened and lightning begin to lash across the sky. Flaming rocks began falling alongside the rain utterly unnerving all who bore witness to the hellish spectacle.

The roar also had the added effect of sending everyone to the ground with the force it carried. Ysvor rolled off of the block and crashed hard into the ground. One of the flaming rocks struck near his head, shattering and sending shards of molten rock across the area. One suck shard grazed Ysvor's right cheek, cutting deep but instantly cauterizing itself. He exclaimed with a mixture of fright, shock, and pain. And then someone was kneeling next to him, slowly sawing through his bindings.

Ralof grabbed his newly freed arm and hastily hauled him to his feet. He turned Ysvor to look him in the eye. His mouth moved but the words were lost on Ysvor, who suddenly realized his eardrums had burst because of the roar. Ralof begin to run off and Ysvor decided to follow him. He reached up to his ears in mid-stride and cast a quick healing spell just as they ran under the doorway of a tower.

"A dragon? Could it be, my Jarl?" He heard Ralof ask.

"The stories are indeed true it seems." Ulfric answered in his deep, regal voice. "This dragon, wherever he came from, has given us a perfect chance to escape. We'll worry about why it showed up later."

"Up the tower!" Ralof cried. "Let us find an exit!"

A single Stormcloak had already begun his ascent by the time Ysvor and the others had sprung into action. Ysvor asked a single question as they walked, "Where are they keeping our confiscated items you reckon?" Ralof gave him a curious glance before answering.

"If they stuck true to Imperial tradition, they have already sold most of it. Set it ahead of us most likely. If any of its left, it'll be in the dungeon under lock and key." Before anything else could be said, the wall up ahead caved in, crushing the leading soldier under a rain of stone. A horned, obsidian head poked its way through the hole and locked a single blood colored eye upon Ysvor's silver ones.

"_Dovahkiin."_ was the single word spoken in that harsh voice that chilled him straight down to the bone.And then the beast spat forth a blazing torrent of fire, bathing the stairwell in unbearable heat. Ysvor and the Stormcloaks retreated back down the steps as the fire washed over them. The flame missed Ysvor by scant inches. Abruptly, the fire disappeared with a pained roar. Ysvor ventured to look at the newly made hole and saw the black dragon attacking another part of Helgen.

"Jump!" Ralof yelled into his ear. "We'll be right behind you!"

Ysvor took a few steps away from the opening, tensing his body for the great leap down. He sprinted the short distance with all the speed he possessed and threw himself into open air with all the power his legs would produce. Just before his feet left solid ground, he saw the massive dragon wheel around and head in his direction. He felt his heart stop as the beast gained ground on him with unbelievable speed. He could see straight down the dragon's throat as it opened its mouth to snap him up out of the sky. And then the beast swerved sideways with a cry of pain as a bolt of lightning slammed into its side.

Ysvor crossed the remaining distance without incidence, hearing the dragon crash into the tower. He grunted as he hit the wooden floor of a ruined house hard and rolled in an attempt to lessen the impact. He looked up as he stopped short of a pair of pale green feet. Zhak towered over him, his hands crackling with abundant lightning from the powerful spell he had just used to save Ysvor's life. He gave the Nord a sharp look before dragging him to his feet.

"Rest later. We are all in this together and we stand a better chance of surviving if we work together. Come, let us head this way." Zhak took off with surprising speed toward a destroyed doorway. Ysvor followed him only to see a disheartening sight. Much of Helgen was aflame or destroyed with dozens of corpses lining the street, not all of them soldiers. What was left of the stationed troops as well as a few unenlisted men attempted to shoot the monster out of the sky. Zhak again blasted the dragon with a bolt of lightning but missed as the beast swerved to the left.

Another breath of searing flames brushed over Ysvor as he ducked to avoid being roasted. Zhak simply cast a magical shield to thwart the beast's intentions. A column of arrows chased the retreating form of the monster as it wheeled around again. Ysvor and Zhak, both still unarmed and unarmored, dashed off again to a tower. They passed under the door just as the dragon landed behind them, the ground shaking from the impact. A roar and another blast of fire accompanied them through the door but neither was harmed by the futile attack. Ysvor put his hands on his knees, drawing deep breaths to recover before speaking.

"I…I have to find…my sword." He gasped out. Zhak, completely unaffected, shot him a curious look.

"What is so important about that sword? Surely another blade would suffice and to attempt to find it with that thing still out there would be suicide." Ysvor shook his head but Zhak preempted him. "Besides for now we should focus on merely finding something to help us fight this beast before it destroys everything."

"Why not escape? Surely there's a way out of this mess that doesn't involve us getting killed." Zhak glared at him with something akin to disgust.

"These are your people, your kin. You would honestly leave them to this fate without at least trying to help?"

"I'm a mercenary, Orc. There's no gold offered for my aid. Why risk my life for nothing?" Zhak appeared to think for a moment.

"Even in Orsinium, our mercenaries are honorable enough to aid civilians in their time of need. Only the lowest of criminals could turn their back on such. Do you really wish that upon yourself? To be compared with trash?" Ysvor snarled at the significantly bigger Orc.

"You know nothing about me so don't pretend that you do. I work for gold. These people are already doomed."

Zhak's eyes suddenly narrowed in anger. The massive Orc's pale green hand was wrapped around Ysvor's throat in an instant. The Nord was thrown against the wall as the air was drained from his lungs.

"What if I made this a choice for you? Either lend aid or die; I have no time to listen to your self- indulgent manners and zero patience for greedy bastards." His hand tightened around Ysvor's neck. The mercenary sputtered for breath, beating on the Orc's corded arm. He finally managed to get a single word out.

"Yes."

The hand was suddenly opened and Ysvor crumpled to the stone floor. He gasped for air as he rubbed his throbbing neck. He shot the Orc a disdainful glance as the warrior towered over him expectantly. Grumbling to himself, the Nord rose to his feet.

"So what's the plan? If we're gonna go through with this it better be good."

"We need to find armor and maybe a few bows. That dragon resisted my strongest spell so it's going to be very difficult to wound. I also realized the few wounds we managed to inflict seemed to slow it down almost none. We'll have to figure out a way to inflict some real damage against it."

"Great." Ysvor rolled his eyes. "What a great plan." Zhak ignored him and moved further into the tower.

As if on cue, the whole tower shook as the dragon presumably landed on it. Zhak appeared unfaltered as he opened up a chest lining the wall. He grunted in some form of satisfaction as he pulled out a set of Imperial heavy armor. He tossed the suit to Ysvor as it was far too small for him to wear in any way. Ysvor took the armor and quickly donned it as Zhak continued to poke around for a set hopefully big enough for him. As expected he turned up empty handed. He did manage to find a couple of swords and a single bow.

Ysvor was given the bow and one of the swords. Zhak, after explaining that he had hoped to avoid this, summoned a set of Orcish battle armor and a powerful looking bow. Having finally equipped themselves, they made for the roof. They were silent as they climbed, both preparing for the battle ahead. They entered the sunlight to see the fight going much as it had been when they left.

Zhak swiftly drew his summoned bow to full draw as the dragon torched a group of fleeing civilians. His arrow took the beast in the side of his head and, surprisingly, forced the creature's head to the side. The dragon roared as it turned to look at them and Ysvor gasped as he saw not a single drop of blood from where the arrow had struck it. Zhak grunted in frustration as he loosed another arrow, also scoring another hit before the beast launched itself at them.

Ysvor joined in with a few arrows of his own, all of which missed. As the beast ducked and dived its way through the hail of arrows, Zhak shot another powerful bolt of lightning at the dragon's face. A roar of pain foreshadowed another blast of fire from the beast's maw which Zhak parted aside with his magic. As the fire raged around him, an arrow suddenly sprung from the depths of the blaze. The dragon had no time to dodge as the arrow rocketed towards its eye.

Blood finally was spilt from the thing's eye as the arrow carved a groove into it. The beast roared in pain and turned aside before it slammed into the tower where Zhak stood. It was apparently shocked at the prospect of it bleeding as it didn't launch any form of attack for several minutes. It finally recovered and made a beeline for Zhak, burning and smiting anything that got between it and the person who wounded it.

Zhak let his bow dispel and drew the sword at his side. He roared a defiant challenge at the Ysvor shot another arrow aiming for the other eye. Surprisingly, his arrow also scored a blow but failed to draw blood as it scraped across the dragon's eyelid when it blinked. The thing bathed their tower in fire as it came closer. Zhak swirled the fire around them, protecting them while building another attack. He suddenly threw the dragon's own fire breath back at it, disorientating the beast with its own attack.

Zhak launched himself from the tower while the dragon was temporarily blinded. Ysvor cried out in shock as the Orc sailed through the air toward the creature's jaw. He stabbed his sword deep into the monster's flesh, eliciting another cry of pain and several furious swipes by the wounded dragon in an attempt to remove him. He held on and deflected the swipes with a few well-placed telekinetic spells. He sent powerful lightning coursing through his sword, electrocuting the dragon with a series of racking pulses. With another roar, the dragon somehow expelled all the nearby objects from its body including Zhak.

Ysvor watched in stunned silence as the heroic Orc tumbled to his imminent death. He was helpless for the distance was too far for even his telekinetic magic to reach. The Orc turned itself to face the dragon one last time and sent one last spell, a gargantuan fireball, racing towards it. The fireball connected just as Zhak crashed into one of the towers. The dragon was basked in flames in a twisted irony. It began banking towards the ground, its wounds seemingly beginning to affect it. It just so happened to land right in front of Ysvor's tower. It raised its obsidian head to look him in the eye again.

"_Dovahkiin. You and your friend have proven a greater nuisance than I believed. We will meet again shortly and I will relish burning your body to ashes."_ And with that the massive, black as night, and wounded dragon took flight again, heading away from Helgen.

Ysvor slumped down onto the battlements, allowing his relief at having survived to race through his limbs. Even though he had done practically nothing to harm the beast, he had still risked his life to thwart it. Anytime your life was in danger your body would build a state of tension and his tension was relieving itself, leaving behind weariness. With a start, he realized he had forgotten about the Orc whom had saved them all. He turned and set off down the tower as fast as he could.

**Well, Ch. 3 is done. Yes, I made my own version of the Helgen assault but I believe it is for the better. Now, I need to explain something. In my story, present day Skyrim is full of powerful people but even they pale in comparison to several prominent figures from back during the Oblivion Crisis. Following my line of reasoning, Zhak, who was a high ranking officer of the Orcish military, would dwarf nearly everyone in Skyrim on terms of power. As we get further into the story and the situation becomes direr, we'll have some fairly powerful figures pop up and several will become far more powerful. But for now, Zhak is easily the strongest character in this story. I would see him easily capable of taking on a dragon so in theory he would put up a fight against an unprepared Alduin but as a half god or whatever he is, he has a certain level of immortality in the mortal plane. Anyway, that's all for now. Read and review, it inspires me to write faster.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Well, here's the next chapter. I apologize for the long wait between these two. Over the holidays, I became quite sick and was unable to even enjoy them much. As soon as I got back on my feet, college started up again. I swear I'll never take 8 o'clock classes again. Anyway, this chapter will hopefully give you a good look at the differences in Zhak and Ysvor, particularly their take on things.**

**Ch. 4: Discovering Truths**

Ysvor hurriedly made his way down the staircase, wary of the fact that there could still be an Imperial presence within the city. After the way that dragon basically burned the whole town to the ground though, Ysvor highly doubted there was anything else left alive within the city walls. But he had not survived for twelve years as a dumb or reckless mercenary; people in his profession tended to die quickly under such circumstances. It was for this reason that he loosened the blade in its scabbard as he approached the door.

Outside was a scene taken straight from the nightmares of a pyromaniac. Everything was burning, from the sparse trees to the wooden walls of the numerous houses. Smoke threatened to clog up his lungs as he took his first breath in this blazing ruin, a breath that was quickly coughed straight back out. Ysvor, after his coughing fit had subsided, squinted against the black smoke and looked in the direction that Zhak had fallen. He was fairly confident he could make out the tower where the heroic Orc had been dropped off.

As he made his way through the town, he couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of the destruction this dragon had caused. As he had already observed, everything was set ablaze meaning that little of the housing would be left standing among the ruins of Helgen. For the non-flammable buildings, the dragon had used its own body to crumble the stonework. Several watchtowers lay draped over the road he was walking, smoke wafting from their burning interiors. The dragon had been quite thorough in its destructive manners it seems, almost as if it had a specific purpose for attacking the town that defied the logic of a common beast.

Much like the buildings that once protected them, the denizens of Helgen were equally as efficiently butchered. Ysvor came across several scorched corpses, burned beyond recognition by the dragon's blasted breath. Not even the children had been spared this horrific fate. Yet not every body was torched, or even died a quick death. Several Stormcloaks lay in the pockmarked dirt, each one bearing the signs of fatal sword wounds. Fatal but not instant; the rebels had bled to death. Not far from them were their supposed killers, a squad of Imperials crushed and mutilated.

_This dragon, if it was indeed a dragon, is just as terrifying as the stories tell. _Ysvor cast his gaze toward a body of a young child, impaled upon a jagged rock by the foul creature. _That such a monster could exist with no one knowing about it…Truly I'm lucky to have survived that ordeal but I doubt my survival if not for the Orc. He battled the beast on what seemed even footing. Just who is he?_ It was questions like this that the Nord dwelled on as he approached the tower. He was startled out of his pensive mood as the door suddenly appeared inches from his face.

He pushed it open, revealing what he had suspected to find of an Imperial tower's main floor. Basic furniture lined the walls with a large bearskin rug stretching across the floor. Ysvor quickly dismissed such trivialities as he saw the stairs in the back. Seeing as there was no Orc on this first floor and no visible holes through which he may have fell, Ysvor climbed to the second floor.

Here he was met with a room full of shining, polished weapons supplemented by several suits of differing armor. He scanned briefly across them all, noting they were mostly steel based weaponry with a few suits if scaled armor here and there. Forgetting about the Orc for a moment, he wondered why the Legion would have such equipment in their personal armories. Then he remembered what the Stormcloak, Ralof, had told him, that there would be a room for confiscated arms and armor. His eyes widening in desperate hope, he frantically did a double take on the room, searching for his sword. His armor he could care less about but that sword was very special to him, unique one might say.

His hopes were dashed however when the massive Orc trudged down the stairs leading up to the third floor. He paused as he took notice of his company, and then resumed walking as he recognized the Nord. Ysvor basically deflated as he was forced to accept that his sword was gone. Anything above would surely be irreparable after the Orc's crash landing. He formulated his response as the green-skin drew closer but Zhak beat him to it.

"We have to warn these people that there is at least one dragon on the loose. I'm assuming you are well and would do better to find something more protective than those rags the Legion is calling armor these days." And with that, the Orc discarded the mercenary in pursuit of armor that would hopefully fit him. The casual dismissal and the way the Orc had said "we" rubbed Ysvor the wrong way. The out-spoken Nord called Zhak's attention back to himself.

"We? Orc, I'm grateful that you saved my life and all, but I don't owe these people any favors. I'm not pursuing a quest that will likely get me killed for free! That's bad business after all." The Orc shot him a glance over his shoulder.

"You would abandon your own people in what could be their greatest time of need?"

"Aye. I'll not die for some absurd patriotism. There's nothing in this little noble mission of yours except misery and a very painful death!" The Orc now turned to face the Nord completely, making the differences in their size clear to discourage the Nord from violence.

"You call yourself a Nord? The Nords in my day were a proud and honorable people. They were some of the finest warriors the Empire had at their disposal and each and every one of them would help the other in a time of crisis." Ysvor felt his anger rising but it was offset by his sudden curiosity.

"Your day? What in Oblivion does that mean?" The Orc locked his piercing blue eyes upon Ysvor's steely silver ones with a look of utmost seriousness.

"I do not expect you to believe my answer but I am not from this time. I am Zhak gro-Nurzhuk, Captain of the Orcish Calvary and hero of the Oblivion Crisis. I was wounded in the final battle inside of the gates, facing a Valkynaz that I took with me. My men succeeded in closing the gate but my wound was mortal. I believe that through some unknown events, I was suspended in limbo between the two worlds. Until I was summoned here by accident a few days ago that is."

Ysvor stared, no gaped at this insane Orc. Time-travel? What a load of horse dung! He began to tell the Orc that but stopped as he remembered the display of power against the dragon. Instead he opted for a more diplomatic option.

"Are you…sure you're alright?"

"I assure you I am perfectly sane." The Orc turned his attention back to the armory, grunting in satisfaction as he found a suit of steel plate armor that seemed big enough for him. "Regardless, we still have to warn the locals."

"I've told you," Ysvor said heatedly. He leveled a glare at the Orc's back. "I don't work for free." Zhak looked over his shoulder, his blue eyes hollow and void as so that Ysvor couldn't see his emotions. It scared Ysvor almost as much as that dragon.

"Do you think that dragon will just fly away after that? It had a specific reason for attacking today. It was too coincidental; you're about to be killed and then that thing shows up. And it called you that word, 'Dovahkiin.' I doubt either of us knows what that means But it seems obvious that you were the target today. Like it or not, you're already involved in this. It would be foolish to try and ignore it."

Ysvor couldn't look at those hollow eyes anymore so he snapped his attention to the far wall. What the Orc said, it made a lot of sense now that it had been put in front of him. That dragon was indeed after him today and Ysvor knew that without Zhak, he would have died today. He gritted his teeth as he was forced to accept that he needed the Orc's help.

"Fine. I'll help you. But first we have to find my sword' it's bone white, should be easy to spot amongst these blades."

"I think I remember seeing a sword like that on the top floor." Ysvor looked the Orc in the eye, relieved to see emotion there again. He then hurriedly moved past the Orc as said mer began dressing himself in armor. He took the steps three at a time in his haste. He walked onto the top floor, seeing not an armory but a bedroom with the door ripped off its hinges. Zhak must have barreled through the apparently locked door.

Inside of the chamber was a very large bed capable of fitting four men and some rather expensive looking destroyed furniture. In the center of the room was a slight crater, really no more than a few spider-web cracks, where Zhak had undoubtedly fallen. Casting an eye along the wall, he saw several weapons and even a few suits of armor lining each wall. Trophies he figured, taken by the resident who must have been the leader of the garrison here.

His eyes found a set of such armor, an entire suit of ebony plate armor. Next to the armor was his blade, a stark contrast to the darkness of the armor. He couldn't believe his luck; the Imperials hadn't gotten rid of his armor or his sword! He quickly began to put the armor on starting with the padded leather to protect himself from chafing. Next came the greaves and gauntlets. He had discovered that it was far easier to put them on without a bulky cuirass to impair your flexibility. Finally, after donning his chestplate, he hung his helmet from a hook on his sword belt opposite of his blade.

He trudged back down the stairs, making far more racket than he did when he came up. His ebony gear felt like it was custom made for him, a fact that was actually true. Zhak had long since finished donning his steel plate and was now hunting a weapon or two. He looked swiftly at the ebony clad Nord, grunted, and turned back to his search. He suddenly tossed an ebony bow over his shoulder, never taking his eyes of his hands. Ysvor deftly caught his bow and placed it on his back, making a note to pick up some arrows later.

Zhak grasped an elven greatsword and tugged the normally massive blade out. The sword, designed for average height people to use, looked like a slightly longer version of the one-handed sword when held by the massive Orc. He looped the greatsword onto his back and continued to hunt for a presumably smaller weapon. Ysvor leaned against the wall while he watched the Orc's methodical search. At last, Zhak found an actual Orcish made axe with a larger head than most.

"Are you ready?" He asked the Nord. At said Nord's nod of confirmation, he began to share his plan. We are in Helgen, or so said that Stormcloak. If my memory is right, that means we are closest to Whiterun, yes?"

"So you want us to warn the Jarl of Whiterun of this problem?" Ysvor considered it for a brief few moments. "The road is too long to travel in a single da. We should stop in Riverwood for the night. I'll take a warm bed and warm mead over a cold forest any day."

"Then come, let us not wait. The longer we dawdle the more danger everyone's in." With that the Orc turned around and marched out of the tower. Ysvor followed, noting the way the Orc emotionlessly swept his gaze over all the dead bodies. It spoke of several battles much like this one. The Orc started up a conversation as they made their way past the gate, Ysvor leading the way to Riverwood.

"I'm curious about that sword. I've never seen its like before and you mentioned it was important." Zhak didn't need to clarify the question.

"It's called the Shadow-Blade. It helps me…control myself." Zhak looked curiously at the Nord, who was suddenly looking away with a far off look. Zhak recognized the look as one of painful remembrance so he decided to let the matter drop for now. However, now was the perfect time to satisfy another aspect of his curiosity.

"I've told you who I am. I would like to know a bit more about who I'm travelling with." Ysvor suddenly came back to the present with a hearty laugh.

"There's too much to tell, Or-Zhak, some of which I don't think you're privy to. But I will say that I'm a well-known mercenary in these parts. I've had several life and death experiences but never anything like that beast." He finished with a shudder.

"What was that anyway?" Zhak asked the Nord, seeing as how this was _his_ time period.

"A dragon, one of the destroyers of legend. We believed them to have long since passed into naught but children's tales. Why that one appeared and how are two questions I would very much like to know myself." Said Ysvor, looking off into the frozen forest as a small snow hare leapt clear of some bushes. "All I know for sure is that whatever's going on, both of us are now involved in it. You made that very clear to me." He looked back to the Orc. Now that Zhak had asked a few of his questions, it was time to satisfy his own curiosity.

"I seem to recall you mentioning being a Captain." He started with an unassuming voice. "Tell me, how was Orsinium in those days?" Zhak shot him a look of utter confusion and curiosity so Ysvor decided to explain a bit more. "The Orcish capital was always a matter that I found quite enthralling in my younger days. I would like to hear an actual account of a person who was actually there."

Now it was Zhak's turn to look off into the snowy woods, his long moment of silence leaving a very tense atmosphere amongst them. Ysvor patiently waited for the Orc to gather his thoughts; undoubtedly there would be several memories that would bother the Orc. He had lost everyone he knew and everything that he could have cared about was gone. He was brought of his thoughts when the words from a past age began to speak.

"Orsinium was a wonderful place. It was nestled between two mountains deep in the Wrothgarian Mountains, with walls made of frozen iron twenty foot thick and nearly as tall. Snow was a constant companion, always following you no matter where you went even indoors. To most the cold would have been debilitating but to us it was home. Not all of Orsinium was snow and iron though; hardy conifers grew in several preplanned districts within the city, each one decorated personally by the local inhabitants. I remember several late nights of watching as a new family would add their own decorations to the trees. This side of Orsinium was serene and beautiful, a direct contrast to the stereotypical Orc.

However, this was not the only side of Orsinium. Only the civilians and priests lived in this section. The other side of Orsinium was a less…serene section. It was full of bars and brothels, a place where only adventurers and whores ventured. It was not uncommon for bar fights to sprawl into the city streets though killing inside of the city for any reason whatsoever was punishable by death." It was at this time that Zhak looked again at Ysvor, who had so far been listening attentively.

"This too was a mere section of Orsinium, a piece of the whole. Neither of these sections appealed to me; I was a warrior not a priest or a thrill-seeker. Gortwog was no fool by any means and he recognized this. The whole reason for dividing the city was to separate the different factions, to insure a stability among his people and provide what everyone wanted. Those of us who were enlisted lived in a section of the city nestled away from these other, less appealing practices. Where we lived was full of buildings both bare and barren with naught but the bare essentials to survive. We were allowed to place whatever we wanted in our respective room, which would be the size of a large house generally. No more than ten Orcs were allowed to live under the same roof, ensuring that only squad mates lived together.

Of course, officers and such were allowed to have larger rooms, sometimes even houses to themselves. I shared a house with two others: Lurak and Nyrum. Both were my lieutenants and technically my subordinates, yet I maintained and expressed the idea that we were all brothers and sisters, that rank was merely a formality." Zhak grew silent for several long seconds. It took the Nord an equally long time to realize the Orc had said all he would without further prompting, or so he believed.

"So, I take it Orsinium was fairly large?" The Orc answered with a simple nod which merely annoyed Ysvor. "Tell me more about them, Lurak and Nyrum I mean." The Orc released a massive breath and locked his piercing blue eyes on Ysvor's.

"Perhaps another time, Ysvor. We are, after all, still strangers only united by a common interest." The Nord abruptly looked away in slight embarrassment as he realized that his curiosity had overtaken his boundaries. A comfortable silence grew between them as they walked, the frozen countryside slowly turning into the grasslands of Whiterun. Hours passed with not a word spoken, except for the occasional question Zhak asked about the local flora and fauna. Ysvor would explain to the Orsinium bred Orc as much as he knew on the subject, quickly discovering that the Orc knew quite a bit about the Skyrim plants and animals. It was not until they came upon a steep, back-and-forth decline that a serious question was again asked.

"That soldier," Zhak began. "Ralof, I believe. The Imperials called them 'Stormcloaks.' What does that mean?" Ysvor's mood soured and his face darkened as he prepared to answer Zhak's question.

"A few years back, a Nordic Legionnaire named Ulfric Stormcloak left the Legion. Ulfric was a war prisoner; taken by the Thalmor during their siege on the Imperial City. What those elves did to him nobody knows but it left him with a deep hatred of the Thalmor. When the Great War ended and the White-Gold Concordant was signed, he went ballistic." Zhak interrupted with an opaque air of confusion.

"Great War?" Ysvor looked at him before chuckling to himself.

"My apologies. I forget you're not…informed of current events." Ysvor said abashedly. "The Thalmor finally mustered the courage to invade Cyrodil. A long and bloody war followed with the Thalmor finally forcing the Empire into submission. A treaty known as the White-Gold Concordant was signed, a treaty that outlawed the worship of Talos. Surely you can guess the impact this had on the Nords?" At Zhak's nod he continued. "Ulfric became the leader of the Nords creating the Stormcloak rebels and plunging Skyrim into chaos. The Civil War has raged for several months now and the Thalmor have begun moving more 'Ambassadors' into the Empire, another requirement of the Treaty."

"Ulfric causes distress in a time of great stress." Zhak said after a few moments of consideration. "A righteous cause but a foolish path. The Empire is evidently far weaker than in my time, especially with the loss of the Septims. A problem that we'll have to fix before long apparently."

"How do you plan to fix an Empire?" Ysvor asked incredously. He noticed briefly that they were passing by Embershard Mine, am observation that informed him that they were swiftly approaching Riverwood. Zhak considered his question deeply before giving one of the most clichéd answers of all time.

"I don't know." He dropped the most famous line for bad plans. "I'll worry about that when we get closer towards that goal. For now, let's focus on these dragons."

"Agreed." Ysvor thrust his arm out, finger pointing towards a lazy spiral of smoke just barely visible over the trees. "That would be Riverwood. We'll get rooms at the Sleeping Giant Inn and be on our way to Whiterun in the morning."

"How long will it take to get to Whiterun?"

"If we leave at dawn we'll arrive around midday. Assuming, of course, that we don't run into any trouble along the way." Ysvor halted in his speech to listen to the sound of howling wolves. "Prepare yourself, Zhak. Skyrim wolves can be fearsome beasts."

Zhak and Ysvor readied their weapons, the hiss of Ysvor's blade competing with the howls. They waited for several moments after the noise died down but the wolves remained hidden. They were dimly aware of something moving in the thick brush but failed to see anything more than shadows. A lone wolf slowly walked out into the middle of the road, eyeing the two armed persons in front of it with a predator's gaze.

Ysvor lowered his sword and moved forward just a few paces, earning an inquisitive eye from both Zhak and the wolf. The wolf stretched a dark grin across his pearly fangs, a low rumble emitting from its throat. Ysvor in turn bared his teeth at the wolf, growling much the same. As the two of them stood there, eyes locked onto each other, the wolf saw something in the Nord's eyes. It was a deep thing, feral and vicious in nature. The look was more than the wolf was seeking in its prey, that one look had deeply frightened it. It lowered its tail and promptly ran away, its tail tucked between its legs. Ysvor lowered his ready stance and ushered Zhak forward. The Orc gave his companion a very curious look and spoke the obvious question.

"What was that all about?" Ysvor flashed a sheepish grin at the Orc. "It's an old Nord trick for dealing with the wolves. They won't fight what they believe is stronger than them. All you have to do is show them." The Orc looked on for several more minutes before continuing on their trek.

"Now, back to what you were saying?"

**I know it's not as long as my other chapters but I've been struggling with this chapter for two months. I finally just…finished it. I feel like I may have rushed through the last part too much and failed to get what I intended across. Anyway, as a whole I accomplished what I wanted to with this one. Mainly, I explained a bit of the insight of political events in this story and caught Zhak up to speed for the most part. Leave a review and tell me what you guys think about this one. Hopefully, next chapter won't take as long but I make no promises. Until then.**


	5. Chapter 5

**All right guys, I have good news! Main inspiration for this chapter is an out of the blue thought. It will be more action packed than the last one. Whether or not we make it to Whiterun…That's debatable. Anyhow, enough of me, on to the chapter!**

**Ch. 5: New Enemies Surface**

_Ysvor was roughly shaken awake by steely hands. A voice, still indistinguishable, cried out to him, appealing over and over again. Yet the abruptness of his awakening kept his senses muddled for several long seconds. He finally mustered the sense to turn over, digging his ears out of the pillow in the same movement. The voice was suddenly very clear as was the backhand to his face._

"_Ysvor!" Someone screamed. "By the Nine, wake your ass up!" Ysvor, with the aid of the impromptu slap, shot straight up in his bed with his eyes wide open in furious rage._

"_I'm up dammit!" He shouted back, noticing the screamer readjusting his Imperial Bracers back into their original positions. The man who had forced him awake was Ebon, his long-time friend since his enlistment with the Legion. He found it odd that Ebon was fully dressed for battle inside of their own barracks. Ebon sighed in relief while Ysvor took in these odd facts._

"_Thank the Nine. Rouse yourself quickly! We are under attack!" Now that got Ysvor's attention. He sprang from his mattress and quickly began to sheathe himself in his protective Legionnaire armor, his questions flowing while he worked._

"_Who in Oblivion is it?!" Ebon opened his mouth to speak but was rudely interrupted by a soldier slamming through the wooden door. Ebon whirled as Ysvor felt his muscles tighten in apprehension. The soldier lay still as blood pooled around him and Ebon suddenly pulled his blade. From the hallway, a shadowed figure jeered in at them. It was fairly tall and apparently unarmed and unarmored._

"_You Imperials always were pretentious fools." The shadow spoke slowly and tauntingly, its voice easily recognizable by accent alone. The bloody Thalmor were responsible for this assault against the Legion! Ysvor stood still as the figure stepped into the torchlight, confirming his suspicions. The Thalmor opened its mouth to taunt them again but was preempted by Ebon trying to slice its head off._

_ The High Elf smoothly ducked under the swing and leaned to the right. It had positioned itself for a swift jab straight under Ebon's armor, the blow pushing deep into the soft flesh of his underarm. Ebon reeled backwards but was well trained against such maneuvers; he swung his blade in a diagonal arc to discourage the Thalmor from taking advantage of the opening. The Thalmor backed away from the swing and raised both of its hands. Lightning began building and had coalesced into an intimidating ball of powerful magic in mere seconds. Ebon's eyes grew wide as he realized he couldn't dodge that at point-blank range. Ysvor, forgotten until then, had gotten the drop on the elf and decapitated it before it released its spell._

_ With that threat now over and Ysvor's question answered, he hastily finished putting on his armor. Ebon watched the door to make sure they were not surprised again. As Ysvor slid his helmet over his head, he asked Ebon a single question._

"_What happened?" Ebon glanced back, confirming that he was ready, and set off from the doorway. He answered Ysvor's question without looking at him or lowering his guard, a feat that Ysvor emulated._

"_Nobody knows why they attacked or even how they got so close. One minute we're happily lost in dreamland and the next the sentries are bellowing about intruders as their throats are slashed. They swarmed in through the gates, all of them, and overran what few patrols we had. By then most of us were awake and in just a few minutes, we were out there battling them. I can't believe you didn't hear the alarms." Ysvor and Ebon slowed as they approached the door leading out into the battle. If he listened hard enough, Ysvor could make out the sounds of steel clashing on steel. He and Ebon took up positions on either side of the door, naked blades in hand and both preferring to fight with no shield. They nodded at each other and Ysvor reached for the handle seeing as his back would be to the door._

_ Cautiously did he creep the oak barrier open, blade poised to thrust into some imaginary foe's heart. Yet he was met with only silence, the sounds of fighting coming from nearby. He swung the door the rest of the way open and allowed Ebon to join him. Taking advantage of their lapse in action, Ysvor asked another question._

"_Do you know what kind of front we have organized? Where the Captain set up his headquarters?"_

"_Aye, he's using the mess to administrate his orders. We managed to repel the Thalmor's incursion force but more soldiers besieged the gates before we could close them properly. My guess is the brunt of the fighting's going on at the west gate, it's the one in the direction of the last Thalmor movement our spies reported in." Ysvor suddenly broke out into a huge, wolfish grin. Ebon sighed reluctantly. "Please don't tell me that's where we're headed." Ysvor just dashed off, leaving his friend to rush after him._

_ They rounded the corner and immediately took cover from a stray fireball. Ysvor, always one to enjoy danger, laughed as the spell threw shards of rock and lumps of dirt in all directions. He leapt from cover and hacked an unsuspecting Thalmor in half. Ebon rushed forward to slit the throat of another before they were discovered. Ebon had to carefully weave his way through a series of sword strokes and very, very accurate spellcasting, a trait the High Elves were notorious for. Ysvor rushed to his friend's aid and engaged the wizard currently trying to barbecue the Imperial._

_ The wizard hopped back from Ysvor's initial downward cut and threw a face full of fire back as payment. Ysvor, also somewhat skilled in the arcane, managed to raise a ward between him and the blaze. His sword found its way into the surprised wizard's gut. He spun to face his next opponent, a war axe suddenly being sent his way. He ducked the blow and lashed out with his foot, catching the offender in the chest. He raised his blade as his instincts screamed and deflected another blade. He spun around in a tight circle, backhanding the latter Thalmor and slicing across the other's gut._

_ Ebon suddenly appeared and ran the falling Thalmor through, bodily picking the wiry elf several feet off the ground. Ysvor danced past him and lodged his blade in the face of another elf seeking to stab Ebon in the back. Ebon tossed the lifeless body off of his blade as he did so._

"_A good night to fight, don't you agree?" Ysvor called out as he parried a sword. He snatched the blade from the man's grip and ran him through with it. He let the elf fall backwards as he sought a new opponent._

"_Focus on the battle you delirious bastard!" His friend shot back at him. Ebon was locked in a game of cat and mouse with a rather large Thalmor wielding a warhammer. Ysvor had to do a double-take because he wasn't even aware the High Elves got that big in the first place. Ebon hopped over a low sweep and struck out with his foot as he landed a quick jabbing kick that broke the elves kneecap. A slice to the head and that ended that fight._

_ Ysvor locked blades with another elf, this one being back to what he considered normal. He used his superior bulk and muscle to force the elven blade back towards its master. He was caught by complete surprise as the elf hastily spun the its left, away from Ysvor's blade as it fell through the spot it had been standing mere seconds ago. His eyes widened as he took stock of the wizard casting a lightning bolt at him. _

_ The bolt tossed him through the air, sending waves of racking pain through his body. He cried out as he slammed into the wall of some building, collapsing in a tangled mass of numb limbs. His eyes were narrow and his teeth gritted in frustration more than pain. He gazed up, finding his trickster of an opponent rearing his blade overhead. Ysvor smiled and reached out with his telekinesis, the only real weapon he had at the moment. He grasped the blade and forcibly yanked it out of the elves hands. _

_ The blade was flung into the ribcage of the wizard who had smote him as his opponent looked at his empty hands in confusion. Ysvor suddenly lashed out with a lightning spell of his own, sending the Thalmor in front of him flying over the buildings. He rolled to his feet dazedly as another took notice of his downed form. He numbly grasped for his blade, the option of magic never reaching his scattered mind. While he fumbled with the sword, the elf nearly took his head off. Ebon suddenly tackled the elf and impaled it to the ground._

_ He kicked Ysvor his sword as he withdrew his own. He reached down to help the Nord to his feet. Together, they surveyed the battlefield before them. Things didn't look good for the Imperials. The elves had struck too deep with their original attack for the Imperials to push them back. All the Legion was doing was buying time for the Captain to hopefully to hopefully come up with some miracle plan. Shaking their heads, the two soldiers leapt back into the fray._

_ For several more hours, the two of them fought. Their world had quickly become a sea of blood, a deadly dance of weaving and slicing. Before long, Ysvor's arms burned with fatigue, begging him to allow them at least a few moments of rest. He had collected several minor injuries, a cut to his under forearm, a gash along his neck from a close call. Nothing life threatening or too deep but still painful._

_ He hacked yet another elf in half, his fatigued muscles nearly rolling him over. He staggered to keep his feet and looked back up to see his friend dueling a wizard. The conjured blade came awfully close to Ebon's face but he had ducked just far enough away. _We can't keep this up, _Ysvor thought to himself. Even though they had forced their way to the mess, the Thalmor kept coming. He began to wonder just how many troops they had brought. Suddenly, a loud peal of thunder startled him out of his thoughts. A single bolt of powerful lightning arced across the field, knocking aside soldiers on both sides as it sought a different target._

_ Ysvor watched powerlessly as Ebon was mercilessly thrown aside as the bolt plowed through him. It passed by him with a margin of several feet and he felt it connect with the stone walls of their makeshift headquarters. He turned to see the stone walls ballooning out, bulging in a near impossible manner. And then it exploded with another thunderclap, sending Ysvor tumbling as he was pelted with flying stone. And then, with one more clap of thunder, darkness encased his vision._

Ysvor sharply sat up in his cot, throwing the sweat soaked blanket away from him. His breath came in short, quick gasps as he tried to come to terms with what had just happened. His mind finally worked its way through the idea that it was only a dream or nightmare to be more accurate. He wasn't on the fields of battle in Cyrodil; he was here, in a cozy inn in the middle of Skyrim.

The roar of thunder crashing against his ears had him leaping out of bed, his hand unconsciously lowering to his sword. Of course, there was no blade there and a moment later he realized that there was no danger as well. He heaved a sigh of relief as another thunderclap rang. He briefly wondered what time it was, before noticing the lacking presence of his Orcish companion. He raised a brow in curiosity and reached for his sword belt. Once it was tightly strapped around him, he made his way outside.

The inn was deathly silent, not even the bartender stood at the bar. Yet candles cast a glow across the entire room adding their meager fires to the roaring blaze of the central fire. He wondered where everyone was as he had never heard of an inn "leaving the lights on." As he opened the door, he was given his answer.

Not even the rain falling in sheets could deter the villagers from lining the streets. He spotted several residents of the inn amongst the crowd, seeming oblivious of the rain. Lightning raced itself across the blackened sky followed closely by sickening cracks of thunder, yet still they stood watching. Ysvor frowned and moved forward, his vision having been impended by the doorway. What he saw easily showed him why the occupants had turned out in such totality.

Five Thalmor agents, two wizards and three soldiers, walked in a tight formation down the road through Riverwood. Each one of the golden elves had their chins held high and stuck out in a show arrogance that made Ysvor's blood boil. In the center of the formation walked three humans, a Nord family with a daughter barely eight. Ysvor snarled as he registered what was happening and yet was powerless to stop it. Apparently, the primarily Nordic village shared his sentiments and reacted in the only form of protest they had.

His snarl lowered as the Thalmor came to a sudden stop, slightly drawing their blades and readying for a fight. Ysvor looked on in confusion as he followed their line of sight. He almost bashed his skull against the post he was leaning on when he saw that a drunken adventurer had stepped in their way. The drunken Nord glared at the elves.

"Move aside. You are interfering with official Thalmor business." One of them spoke in that haughty tone they all seemed to carry. The Nord took another swig of his mead before answering.

"Business ye say?" he replied, each word slurred into barely recognizable sounds. "Ye mean murder! You Thalmor are nothing but killers, stealing our people from their homes!" To their credit, the Thalmor listened with unfazed disinterest.

"These people have been found guilty of Talos worship, an action that is clearly outlawed in the W-"

"Talos was a hero, _our _hero! We will not stand idly while you desecrate his glory!" The man threw his cup of mead at the elven soldier in the lead, sloshing the liquid over the rim. The Thalmor batted it aside before drawing his blade.

"Then so be it. You yourself have just confessed to the worship of Talos. Drunk or not, you must be taken in for questioning." The man watched with red-rimmed eyes as the soldier moved towards him. He lurched forward unsteadily and raised his fist, yelling some pitiful cry of battle. The young daughter screamed in fright at the display of violence, quickly shielded by her parents and closed in by the other Thalmor.

The elf ducked and threw the man over his soldier. The Nord oofed as his wind was knocked out of him upon his landing. A gold foot finished the job as it slammed into his chest with far more force than necessary. Allowing himself a gloating smile, the Thalmor repeatedly stomped the man, occasionally stopping to rub its foot and gloat. Ysvor again snarled as two of the other elves moved forward to ensure nobody tried anything. He could only imagine the words being spoken as he was too far away to hear without using some of his less desirable traits. Deciding that he had seen enough of the treatment, he began to walk down the steps intent upon stopping them. That much at least he was allowed to do.

"Stop this senseless torture." a voice deep enough to vibrate the wood under his feet spoke out. He hadn't even seen the huge Orc step out into the road. The Thalmor turned, eyeing this newcomer with a suspicious look. Not easily cowed thanks to their superiority beliefs, he even had the gall to lower his blade and step closer to the Orc. Zhak watched silently as the Thalmor got as close to his face as it could. Even the naturally tall elf stood a head shorter than the muscle packed Orc, who wasn't even wearing his armor.

"Orc. I suggest you walk away and mind your own business. Otherwise, I'm afraid this is going to get painful on your end." Zhak simply looked down at the elf, infuriating the pompous mer at the notion of being looked down upon. "Why you…" He reared back with his blade, intending to slap the Orc with the flat of his blade. Ysvor suddenly took off into the crowd, knowing exactly where this was heading and how it would end.

Zhak reacted far faster than many believed possible for any creature his size. His hand darted out like a viper, clasping onto the golden hand before it even drew near to his head. With a sick crack he broke the Thalmor's wrist, twisting it backwards at an impossible angle and forcing the hand to drop the sword. As his friends began to rush him, Zhak threw the High Elf into their path. They caught their flying friend as all three of them fell to the ground in a mass of limbs. The Orc sent a fireball their way to vaporize them, a spell blocked by one of the wizards. The two elves locked eyes, one blazing gold and one frozen ice.

A quick series of spells of all kinds flew through the air between them, casting fireworks where they met that, under different situations, would have been considered beautiful. As soon as this started, onlookers quickly dispersed seeking shelter from the wild magicks. Meanwhile, Ysvor had sneaked the family out of harm's way under the guise of the heated dueling. He looked back to notice that the soldiers were beginning to reorganize themselves. Pulling his blade, he decided to even the playing field.

Before any of the elves took notice of him, he sliced one of the spell casters in half, leaving Zhak to defend against only one. The three more physical elves roared in anger as they saw him standing over their fallen brethren, coated in warm blood. They swarmed him, blades singing from their sheathes in a furious retort. Ysvor batted aside the first strike with his bracer, putting the elf off balance and allowing him to sink his white blade hilt-deep into the leading elf. The other two stopped short of the estimated reach of his blade and began to circle him, eyeing him cautiously over the no-man's land. A lightning bolt suddenly flew through their midst, roaring in rage that shook all and making the combatants pause to recover from the sound.

Ysvor swung his sword in slow circles around his body, his eyes darting back and forth between each elf. He noticed one constantly sneaking around towards his back, despite the poor attempts to hide it. The elf was attempting to strike him from his blind spot while his companion tried to keep the Nord's attention. In a feeble attempt to garner said attention, the Thalmor in front of him took several short steps forward, retreating before it had taken more than four.

Ysvor took a deep breath and let it out slowly. While seeming unimportant, the action allowed Ysvor to focus, tapping into skills and powers that he had long since tried to bury. He knew the Thalmor were quite dangerous and he would take no chances with them. He took another deep breath and felt his senses sharpening. He could smell the rain radiating from the mucky earth. He could even feel the water droplets falling around him, the displaced air being a beacon for his highly acute senses. His eyes snapped open, revealing a slitted pupil, and locked onto the Thalmor eying him suspiciously.

His now heightened hearing detected the shuffling step, accompanied by a soft swish of clothing, behind him while his eyes watched the elf in front. The elf within his sight raised its blade, obviously intending to charge. Ysvor could hear the elf behind him shoot forward, allowing him to be certain that the first charge was merely a fake. He grinned like a predator catching its prey at the one in front of him before spinning to the side. His blade came over his shoulder, cutting a graceful arc through the air and slicing deep into the elf that had lunged into a stab. The elf, caught off guard, was helpless to stop the stroke from killing him. The remaining Thalmor snarled and lashed forward with his open palm.

A stream of fire flew towards Ysvor, heat washing over him long before the flames. The Nord retaliated by casting a frost spell to delay the flames. Taking advantage of the ensuing steamy mist, he slipped into hiding and the fire that was left rushed helplessly past him. Ysvor closed his eyes, focusing entirely on his keen hearing. He heard the Thalmor swear and attempt to copy his hearing trick. He even heard Zhak grunt as his opponent landed a fist.

Like a ghost from the mist, Ysvor lashed out succeeding in scraping across the elf's cheek. The Thalmor swore again and backpedalled away. He soon turned and fled, seeking a route out of the temporary mist. Ysvor lashed out with his mind, pushing the elf forward to much and forcing him into the ground. As he approached the fallen elf, he saw the fear in its eyes. He could _smell _it and it was an intoxicating odor. It reminded him of why he had shut off such power in the first place. His blade was swift as it struck the elf down, never thinking of what could be the aftermath of his actions. The rain would soon wash away all of the evidence.

Zhak gritted his teeth as the elf sent yet another lightning bolt past him. The next one was deflected by a shielded hand, buying him time to send his own spell in retaliation. The fireball raced outwards toward the elf, blazing with a fury unknown otherwise. Just as he lost sight of his opponent, the fireball seemed to explode upon itself. Zhak dived to the side as a stream of focused flames sizzled past.

The Orc hit the ground with a roll, looking up only to see his magical opponent right in his face. His eyes widened in surprise and the elf was able to catch him in the jaw with a strong hook. He grunted as his head was tossed to the side; the helmet's design unfortunately didn't protect that particular angle. The elf swung around into a roundhouse kick that took the Orc clean off of his feet.

Zhak had recovered his senses by now and tucked his shoulder as he fell, rolling into a leap that put him back on his feet. The Orc swung his hand behind him in front of his body as it turned, lightning sparking away from the appendage. The Thalmor was forced to leap back to avoid the counter, allowing Zhak to suddenly press the turning advantage. He lashed out with his other hand and sent a frozen hailstorm forth. The sudden attack, paired with the closeness of the two spell casters, made avoidance impossible. The Thalmor only had enough time to raise a barrier before the spell's kinetic force sent it tumbling back this time.

Zhak, now tired of this duel that had exceeded his original expectations, prepared to finish it. He raised his hand, throwing a blood red aura across the sodden ground. The aura pulsed with malignance and promised great deal of pain to whomever or whatever was on the receiving end. That was when he noticed the mist creeping lazily across the impromptu battlefield. He furrowed his brow and changed his mind. He changed his spell to one of invisibility, rendering him unseeable in the thickening fog.

He crept towards where the elf had fallen, keeping careful to step lightly and slowly so as not to alert the rather adept magician. He was only mildly surprised as he dimly saw an illumination spell trying vainly to cut through the mist. He took back what he had just thought; his opponent was either highly stupid or not as well rounded as he had believed. He cast a far smarter spell in this situation, one of Detect Life.

The High Elf was suddenly laid in front of him in great detail, even the vigorous squinting as it tried to see through the mist. He shook his head to himself in disappointment that the elf had was not the challenge that he had hoped. Combat was a big part of any Orc's life and the need to seek capable opponents was ingrained into even the youngest Orcish child.

He slipped closer to the elf, keeping to the edge of the artificial light. He waited until the Thalmor had its back to him and, with speed bellying his size, he lashed out from the thick fog. His large hands found solace on the elf's neck and chin. He paused in the action, allowing the elf to realize just how far outclassed he truly was. During that slight moment of hesitation, a thought occurred to him. The Thalmor ultimately wished to invade Tamriel, seizing the continent for their own nefarious purposes. He had already decided that if it came to that he would stand fast against the High Elves. He made a decision and leaned in close to the elf's golden ear.

"Think about this moment. Remember how it could have happened. Know that you and your friends were outmatched as soon as you stepped into this village." He saw the elf flick its eyes to the furthest corner it could in a desperate attempt to see the Orc. He snarled into its ear for good measure. "Go back to your leaders and tell them that no matter what they attempt in their conquest, there shall always be brave men and women to oppose them. They shall not have Skyrim. They shall not have Tamriel!" The Orc then tossed the elf to the ground and dramatically raised his voice. "Now leave! Take your Divines damned ass and get out!"

The Thalmor, once believing itself to be high and mighty perhaps even fancying itself invincible, scrambled in the mud like a pig in its fear of the towering Orc. It finally regained its feet and left with nary a glance back. The Orc smiled sadistically as the mist cleared, knowing full well that he had just made a grave enemy. Ysvor suddenly loomed out of the fading mist, sodden and soaked in rain and clinging mud. He eyed the retreating Thalmor with distrust.

"You let it escape." The Nord spoke with certainty.

"Aye. He'll go back to the Thalmor high ups and regale them with the terrifying tell of how we defeated them here. Hopefully, that will strike a measure of fear into their hearts." The Nord shook his head.

"Well that's bloody fantastic. Now the Thalmor will definitely be on my ass." He shot the Orc a heated glare. "You could've asked for my opinion first."

"You hate the Thalmor as much as the rest of these people, as much as your race in general. Ulfric may have the right idea but he shouldn't do battle with the Empire. Rally the people and gain the Empire's trust would be the better choice. Only united can any of us hope to defeat the Thalmor once and for all." The Orc turned around briskly and made his way back into the inn, ignoring the awed stares of the townsfolk. "We should leave soon or else we'll lose our advantage of surprise over any potential enemy."

Somewhere deep below that very scuffle, a consciousness suddenly stirred. A single thought crossed the mind of some terrible beast, the first thought it had held in decades. It even managed to muster the awareness required to open one eye briefly to stare out at its prison. Dark rock, hard and sharp, met his brief study of the room. Stalactites and stalagmites made up the pillars, the rough-hewn rock possessing a certain regal aura unique to it. Artificially grown crystals lined the walls, casting the soft blue light that was the only illumination this deep underground. And just as suddenly as it had awoken, it resumed its deep, eternal slumber.

The blue light continued to shine for several more moments, casting an eerie light upon a granite throne presiding over this dismal location. And upon that throne sat a figure, a king ruling over his forgotten lands in the depths of its constant dreams. The figure was encased in a suit of armor that let none of its occupant's body be shown, protecting said body with a maroon shield. A blade as large as the throne was propped up against the forgotten king, providing a useless air of proposed might to strike fear into imaginary foes. After all, none would ever visit this place of inexistence.

_My gift has finally been used again._

**There's another one down! I've recently watched the ESO trailer and its inspired me. There may be some weapons coming in my Skyrim that didn't exist in the vanilla version. Anyway, I'm rushed so I won't have much to say. Yes, I meant to make the Thalmor enemies early on. I want to show how I believe the interactions in game should have been.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hello again to all of you reading this story. I've recently caught up with not just Skyrim, but the entire Elder Scrolls franchise. EOS looks pretty badass so far. As a result I've made the decision to include some un-Skyrimish items. Weapons and maybe a few sets of armor not found in traditional Skyrim for now. However, updates may begin to slow. It's astonishing at the lack of reviews I've gotten. Reviews are essentially what compel me to write. I'm not gonna beg for them but if you want to see quicker updates, reviews would help. Otherwise, I may be tempted to be distracted. Anyway…**

**Ch. 6: The Big City**

Whiterun, as far as Zhak could tell, would be a tightly packed, bustling city, an absolute nightmare to navigate through. He stood on a hill overlooking the plains district where the city was located waiting on his comrade to finish his business. From where he was, he could not make out anything more specific than a throng of shoppers in the market district. The high walls and steep cliff-face didn't go unnoticed however. This city was built like a fortress and Zhak took pity on any one foolish enough to siege it.

"Quite a sight, isn't she?" Ysvor asked as he drew abreast to the Orc, his business finished apparently. The Orc stared for a few seconds longer before turning sharply away.

"We should get moving. The more time we waste gawking, the more time that dragon has to burn down another village. I'd prefer to not allow that to happen." Ysvor rolled his eyes at the nonchalant manner of the Orc.

"Didn't seem too worried about time when you took to thrashing those Thalmor back in Riverwood." Ysvor prodded at him, earning a glance over the shoulder.

"Standing up for what is right will always take precedence in my book." The Orc threw over that same shoulder. Ysvor pressed him yet again.

"Is that why you decided to put us on those elven bastards' hit list?" Now Zhak paused to turn fully and examine him curiously.

"I thought you hated the Thalmor anyway?" He continued after the Nord's nod, also resuming his pace. "Then I merely cleared the air and made sure they understood your position. Sometimes, speaking up for your beliefs will have far greater consequences than would be expected. Even if you have to stand up to the Emperor himself, never let someone else take your honor from you."

"I guess I see your point but that still doesn't mean I'm happen with the thought of those elves tracking me down to kill me. Still, it would have happened one day, as they will all of Skyrim."

"Why not fight for your beliefs then, Ysvor? Why be only a mercenary?"

"Because, Zhak, we simply cannot win. The Thalmor defeated the entire bloody empire; what hope would a single province have? I'd much rather make my gold off the backs of these fools and live rich in whatever society is left." Zhak said nothing and the two walked on in silence for many tense seconds. Ysvor ventured to break that tension with an old legend.

"You know Dragonsreach got its name back in the days of the first dragons centuries ago. Olaf One-Eye tricked one of the mighty beast into his castle, where it was subdued and detained."

Zhak listened with half an ear as the Nord rambled on about the great legend, paying more attention to their surroundings. This action alerted him to the fight going on ahead of them before Ysvor even noticed the field it was being fought in. Three warriors fought a giant beast, one quilling it with arrows and the others toting blades. One of the warriors dashed in and made a passing swipe at one of the legs, narrowly avoiding the massive foot that chased her away. The other warrior, wielding a large greatsword, rushed in but was stopped as the giant swiped at him with its massive hand. The club suddenly struck the ground, sending dust in the air and throwing all three warriors back.

Zhak suddenly dashed away from the rambling Nord, drawing his axe as he went. Ysvor took a few seconds to grasp the situation but when he did, he hastily pursued the Orc. Whipping the bow off of his back, he sent an arrow into the giant's shoulder. The beast roared in rage, brushing the powerful bolt aside like Ysvor would have a needle. Yet, it bought time for two of the warriors to stumble back to their feet. The other, the swordswoman, lay slumped against a wall either dead or unconscious.

Zhak had now drawn close enough to the giant to be perceived as a threat. The brute swung its wooden club at the surprisingly agile Orc, who ducked the blow while on the run. Zhak threw himself sideways as the club moved away, digging his axe into the wood and earning a free ride up to the giant's face. The giant tried to swipe him off with its hand, prompting the Orc to rip his axe free with far greater force than necessary. The extra force became apparent as the Orc was sent in a spinning tumble towards the giant's face, axe lashing out and scoring the beast from nose to jaw. The Orc then made a hasty retreat in the form of rolling down the creature's back.

Ysvor, having moved close enough to use his preferred blade, impaled the giant's foot. The beast roared in fury at the two near simultaneous injuries and lashed out both of them. Zhak narrowly avoided the club and Ysvor simply stabbed the hand. The other warrior, not to be outdone, rushed forward as the beast once again reeled in pain. He swiped his mighty blade across the monster's Achilles heels, forcing the thing to its knees. He walked up to the thing's head, still standing at least a foot and a half over his own, and reared his sword back. The giant was nearly helpless, apparently in shock at the sudden and debilitating pain it was in. Its weakness cost it its life.

The two warriors immediately went to check on their downed comrade, the archer checking for a pulse. Zhak and Ysvor wandered that same way, curious as to whom they were. The swordsman stood and turned to them, blood caking his bearded face.

"Many thanks, travelers. I was beginning to worry about our chances of killing that giant."

"I was happy to lend a hand."

"A hand that remains in disguise." The archer retorted suspiciously, rising from checking on their friend. "Farkas, she's still alive just unconscious." The big man breathed a sigh of relief as the woman turned that cautious stare back to the Orc expectantly.

"I am Zhak, an adventurer. I came to Skyrim to seek my fortune by hiring myself to the conflict." Ysvor kept a straight face at the Orc's lie. After all, not many would believe the time-traveler speech. The woman nodded; the answer apparently expected."

"I am Aela and this is Farkas. We work for the honor of the Companions."

"The Companions?" Ysvor made his presence in the conversation known. His tone was full of surprise. Not often did one meet a Companion, they were said to be the best of Skyrim's warriors.

"Who is this?" Aela asked, the distrustful look re-emerging on her face.

"You may have heard of me, Aela. I am Ysvor Shadow-Blade, an exquisite sellsword in these parts." Aela merely gave him a blank look, obviously having no clue.

"I've heard of him." Farkas rescued her. "He helped the Imperials capture Ulfric. What are you doing in our city?"

"We carry an important message for the Jarl." Zhak said, crossing his arms in front of his barreled chest. "If you don't mind, we'd best be on our way." The two mercenaries moved past the Companions, or at least tried.

"Wait." Said Aela, giving Ysvor a strong look even flaring her nostrils at him. Ysvor looked back with an equal intensity, wondering what the cause was. In her eyes, he detected a familiar feralness just beneath the surface. His suspicions were proven true as she briefly slit her pupils at him. The action was meaningless to those unknowing of it but Ysvor was one of the lucky few to understand it. He slit his own eyes back. She suddenly pulled back and resumed speaking. "You, Ysvor. You should come visit us one day at Jorvaskorr. I see great potential in you as a Companion."

With that said, she turned and walked away quickly, resuming her check-up of their fallen comrade. Farkas shrugged before joining her, leaving Ysvor and Zhak to continue their journey. Ysvor felt uncomfortable the whole time for he knew the Orc was eying him suspiciously. No doubt he would know something was being hidden from him, something important about his travelling buddy. Thankfully the Orc never asked any questions pertaining to the suspicious actions.

They continued on in silence, each preferring to lose themselves in their own minds. Ysvor mulled over what the woman had said and the familiarity he had seen in not just her but her companions as well. And the offer of membership slightly uneased him a tad. Zhak meanwhile pondered his growing suspicions about the true nature of his own companion. Both were shocked out of their thoughts as the city suddenly loomed over them.

Exchanging a silent nod, they began to climb the steps in rhythm. They sustained this rhythm as the steps veered backwards twice, allowing any potential defender to harass his foes for three times as long. A drawbridge further supported the theme of a city-fortress as Ysvor and Zhak glided over it. The large, oak doors towered over even Zhak, and the two guards assigned to watch over it looked them over carefully.

"What is your business with Whiterun? City's closed except for important matters only." Ysvor stepped forward before Zhak, his Nordic ethnicity more likely to win the guard over. After all, most Nords still carried deep hatred of all elves.

"We come with dire news from Helgen. A dragon destroyed the place; we may very well be the only survivors." The guards stared at him for a few moments until Ysvor begin to wonder if they were deaf.

"Aye, we heard of the destruction. Another has managed to beat you here, a bloke from Riverwood by the looks of him. Still, best get on up to the Jarl; he'll want a first-person account." With that, the guard signaled for the great doors to be opened. As they groaned and complained into position, Zhak gained his first look into Nord life.

People thronged the market square in a thick mob, leaving little room for the Orc to maneuver. Yet, the people paid him no mind as they darted back and forth between shops and stalls. Dimly, he could feel the eyes of the guard watching his every move as expected of an outsider. Set aside from the main square was a glorified arena made of cobblestones and wood. Two fighters stood against one another, each bearing no armor and wooden replicas of their favored weapons. A smaller crowd gathered there, each person yelling for their pick to win what seemed to be a battle for profits. Ysvor followed the Orc's eyes.

"It's normally awful quiet around Whiterun; the guard here is one of the easiest jobs despite the influx of adventurers and mercs. These gambling matches were designed so that the guard could stay on their toes and that any traveler might test his mettle. It's actually became quite a sport in Skyrim nowadays." The Orc nodded at the unexpected answer. He returned his attention to the road, noticing they were leaving the crowded market district.

They found themselves in Whiterun's residential areas now. An inn lay directly in front of them with a few smaller stands and one or two stores accompanying it. The sign read the Bannered Mare, and song and laughter drifted out as the doors were swung open by a customer entering. A peaceful waterfall gently bathed them in a light spray as they passed by a very large tree in the center of town. Off to the left, Ysvor could make out several fine houses.

At last they began to ascend the stairs to the Jarl's palace, guards now watching their every step. Ysvor suddenly turned to point to a small district the Orc had missed by the waterfall. The district that housed Jorvaskorr and the Companions he explained. He turned back to be greeted by the great, polished doors of Dragonsreach, politely opened by a nearby guard. Taking a moment to steel himself, he entered alongside Ysvor.

The inside was just as grand as the city outside with a large fire burning brightly right in the middle. Any attackers to reach this far would be momentarily blinded by the fire and unable to see the Jarl's throne regardless. Rich tapestries hung from the walls alongside ancient trophies of past victories. Dining tables lined the floor, each one piled high with excessive food as the inhabitants enjoyed a feast together. One inhabitant sharply rose, drawing a blade as she did.

"Halt. State your name and purpose." The Dark Elf said, eyeing the two newcomers as she crept closer. Over her shoulder, Zhak could see the other warriors readying themselves. Ysvor raised a placating hand.

"We bring dire news to the Jarl's ear. News of Helgen and the blasted dragon itself."

"Irelith! Stand down, let them speak." The Jarl commanded in his heavy accent. Irelith, while not exactly happy with the orders, sheathed her blade. Ysvor waved for Zhak to follow him as he moved toward the Jarl.

Jarl Balgruuf was what many would expect of a Nord ruler. He was tall and well-muscled, though Ysvor had him beaten in that department. His hair was long and greying, giving him a mane that spoke of his wisdom. His beard was braided and his blue eyes were sharp. At his side rested a large battleaxe, intended to discourage foolishness in his court. The Jarl waited politely for Ysvor to draw nearer before beginning his questions.

"What's this about a dragon? Are they naught but children's tales? That lad from Riverwood never did say for sure." Ysvor bowed his head in respect before speaking.

"I was there, tried unfittingly by the field Legions and sentenced to murder without a proper court. They were executing us, my Jarl, us and the Stormcloaks. They threw me down onto the block but before my head was severed, a black dragon, big as this throne room, swooped down. With breath of fire and wings of black, it butchered all that fell into its path. My friend here, Zhak, managed to drive the beast off." The Jarl stared at the Orc, sudden curiosity as well as suspicion filling his gaze. Zhak assumed he meant for him to speak, yet was silenced by a raised hand.

"The dragon had black wings, yes? Then it would seem that the prophecy of old is at hand. The dragon must be Alduin, the World-Eater, returned to devour us all. I would be interested in knowing where you hail from, Zhak. If, of course, you would be kind enough to tell me." The last sentence was a poor attempt at veiled courtesy but Zhak spoke anyway.

"Jarl Balgruuf," he spoke, ignoring the sharp looks he was given for his disrespect. The Jarl paid it no mind though so he continued. "My origins are a topic that I am sure you would not believe. Know that I hail from Orsinium and wielded great power there. I was a Captain in the Orcish Calvary, you see?"

"I see. That is quite a feat, but it pales in comparison to your defeat of Alduin at Helgen. How was such a thing possible?"

"The dragon flew around, torching whatever it could find. I have great skill with destruction magic and fired my most powerful spells at it. Once I had its attention, I lunged off the tower, scoring it across the chin and eye. It fled, apparently surprised at being wounded." Balgruuf nodded in silent contemplation. Another man, a skinny Breton, moved to the Jarl's side.

"My Jarl, surely you're not-"

"Proventius, whatever happened at Helgen definitely happened! We cannot pretend to not see these types of things any longer! You would have me stand idle while this beast burns my lands and slaughters my people?! No, we must take swift action. Irelith, send a detachment to Riverwood at once! I want our men out there now!" The Dark Elf rushed past the two visitors, obviously in a hurry to complete her orders. The Jarl turned back to them after equally dismissing his aide.

"You two have done me a great service and for that you have my thanks. I'll prepare a reward for the both of you but there is some other business you could assist me with. Farengar has been seeking someone of your…particular talents, if you're interested."

Ysvor and Zhak shared a brief look before both agreeing to it. With the imminent dragon threat gone, they both needed something to do. The Jarl rose and led them to an adjoining room where a robed man poured over an alchemy table. He was muttering to himself as he mixed the concoction, mutterings that turned quickly into swearing as it exploded. Balgruuf tapped him on the shoulder.

"Farengar, these two have agreed to assist you." He told the wizard as said wizard eyed them up, a thing that was beginning to annoy Zhak.

"They'll do I suppose." Ysvor spoke up for the first time in a while.

"What exactly is it that is required of us?"

"I need the two of you to delve into ancient ruins in search of a long lost artifact. The artifact, the Dragonstone, is said to contain a map of ancient dragon burial mounds. It will prove invaluable to my research."

"What type of opposition will we be facing?" Zhak inquired.

"That I don't know. Local bandits have taken refuge within but other than that…" he shrugged. "Here, take this map. It'll lead you to the ruins. Good luck to the both of you. Now get out, I have important research to attend to."

It was almost comical the way the far less physically imposing man drove the three seasoned warriors out of his room. Balgruuf shook his head and offered an apology.

"Forgive him. His research hasn't been going well lately and it's starting to affect him."

"It's fine." Ysvor assured him. "I'm use to far worse with my typical clients." Balgruuf laughed heartily, his voice echoing around the large chamber. When he had settled down, he offered the two a free place to spend the night before they started on their journey tomorrow. An offer that was gladly accepted.

Somewhere far away, in much different land, a lone figure walked in solitude. A long coat covered his body in addition to protecting him from the cold. Snow draped the ground and made progress highly frustrating. Yet still the figure trudged on until a small shack came into view.

A tin roof and wooden walls did little to encourage refuge but it was better than nothing. The figure moved towards it with a newfound haste in its steps. The rickety door was just a few more feet in front of him when it felt cold steel on its throat.

"If you're going to pick a meeting place, make sure it somewhere you'll have the advantage at." A smooth voice rolled into his frozen ears. "That's rule number one of the survival guide. You're obviously a rookie, elf." The steel was taken away and another figure, garbed in nondescript, white clothing walked by. "Come on inside, won't do well if you freeze to death out here."

The figure followed the other into the shack, relief flooding through him as he met the warmth of a fire. The white figure sat on a stool near the wall and passed the first a bowl of warm soup. Throwing his hood back, the white man was revealed to be a Nord by his long blonde hair and countless scars. The other figure copied him, revealing itself as a High Elf. A very cold High Elf who promptly sat down and began eating. The Nord merely watched for several seconds with the patience of a predator.

"As you already know," the elf began in between mouthfuls. "There's been a small disturbance with our forces in Skyrim. An Orc by the name of Zhak has dispatched one of our search teams with the assistance of a Nord accomplice. The accomplice was identified as Ysvor Shadow-Blade." The Nord raised a brow at the name but otherwise failed to react. The elf continued, now beginning to feel unnerved at the man's lack of surprise, especially considering their relationship. "We feel that these men may have to be dealt with in the future. They are unaware but their tale inspires the Nords, rouses them into a silent rebellion against us in general. If we were to dispose of them, or even be linked to their disposal, we would have more than just Ulfric to worry about and he would finally gain the support he needs to oust us. We cannot have that."

"So, I'm being hired to take care of them and keep you out of the spotlight?" The Nord said evenly. "This won't be the first time the Thalmor have asked for my aid so I'm used to how you work. Quick, clean, and untraceable. My specialties."

"So you'll take the job?" The Nord nodded. "Excellent. We will expect you at the Thalmor Embassy in Skyrim in a week's time. A pleasure, Mister…?" The elf spoke as he held out a hand to shake. The Nord merely stared at it for several seconds.

"I could kill you right now in so many different ways." He started, shocking the Thalmor who found himself suddenly held in a vice grip on his hand. "That soup could have been poisoned, I could run you through in a heart's beat, or I could have just magically stopped your heart. All it needs is but a touch to any part of the body." The Thalmor now began to end the handshake but was pulled ever closer to the Nord's sadistic face. "I'll accept the job but it will be on my terms. Never forget where you are or who holds the real power in that place. Rule Number Three in the survival guide." He threw the elf backwards slightly and turned away. The elf rubbed his hand and hastily walked towards the door. Curiosity got the better of him and he stopped with his hand on the handle.

"What was rule number two?" The Nord spun around and threw a throwing knife next to the elf's head. The Thalmor paled in sudden fright but did not flee.

"Never ask questions." With that the Thalmor finally forced himself out of the door. He moved as quickly as he possibly could to put as much distance as possible between him and the murdering psychopath he had just hired. All those stories of uncontrollable bloodlust and schizophrenia seemed to yield proof. Hopefully, the man would not disappoint. He was, after all, the Emperor's murderer several years ago.**Hello again to all of you reading this story. I'"""""**

**Well, another one down. I'm assuming that the Thalmor have an established system of communication. Magical of course. Do you guys feel that I'm rushing through the dialog? I can't tell myself. I'm not bothering to explain in painstaking detail things you see in game either. I can use those words in better ways. Leave a review and if you got a question PM me.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Again, I hate having to beg you guys for reviews. It makes me think that you don't really like the story. If I keep thinking that, then I'll take the story down. On to more relevant news, I'm going to skip straight to Bleak Falls Barrow in this chapter. That's what the chapter if over. Lots of action and booby trapped goodness. Enjoy(hopefully).**

**Ch. 7: Into the Depths**

Bleak Falls Barrow was what one would expect of a Nord burial ground dating back to time immeasurable. In other words, it was large, somber, and very creepy looking. Ysvor reflected on the stereotypical appearance as he examined a pillar in front of the door. The pillar was engraved with several draconic figures as well as the ancient letters of the original Nordic tongue. It was this pillar which had brought on such thoughts.

Ysvor turned to look at his Orcish friend, finding him deep in concentration whilst frowning heavily at the engravings on the iron door. Friend was being used loosely here as he still did not trust the Orc completely, but they had shared a couple of battles together. There is no bond like the bond between battle brothers, or shield-siblings as Aela had taught him when he visited yesterday. He shook himself slightly and tried to refocus on the Orc; those memories would only lead him to questions without answers. He would rather be here in a state of complete awareness, so that some bandit wouldn't get in a lucky shot.

As his attention recentered on the Orc, he noticed that his friend had come out of his concentration and was merely staring at the door. Deciding to ask exactly what it was that he had been doing, he was preempted by Zhak.

"I detect two life signatures on the other side of this door. Further down into the ruins, I detect several more. Then after that, nothing. Be on your guard; there's no telling what awaits us down there." Ysvor was giving the Orc his greatest look of incredulousness yet.

"How do you know this? You've done nothing but stare at the door!"

"Detect Life is an amateur spell, one of which any adventurer should be aware of." Ysvor still gave him that look. "It allows you to see other living creatures, even through walls." Ysvor's mouth suddenly dropped open into a perfect "O" as he grasped the magic the Orc spoke of. Seeing as how no more confusion was present, Zhak moved up to the door.

Ysvor followed him up the snowy steps, taking up position on the other side of said door with his bow out. Zhak raised his hand, lightning dancing through his fingers, and silently mouthed out a countdown. On three, he threw his shoulder into the door, nearly bringing the ancient construction of its hinges. Ysvor poured through the new opening, his arrow coming back across his cheek as he smoothly sighted down on the nearer of the two bandits. He promptly fell with an arrow sticking out of his eye. He swung around to take down the other but Zhak's magic suddenly arced across the room, disintegrating her.

Not sharing a word, they both moved up through the next opening. A dilapidated tunnel awaited them, its debilitated state reflecting the entire nature of these ruins. Ysvor knew that they could still stand for several more centuries, however, as these were not his first or his grandest ruins ever venturing into. The tunnel promptly ended and carried them into another, which rounded a corner and brought them to a set of steps. It was here that Zhak held up a hand with three fingers.

Again, Ysvor drew back his bow as he went first down the stairs. The first bandit was in plain sight, even from the top, but had his back turned. Ysvor opted to take out a farther target and let Zhak take the obvious one. His target came in sight but a few steps later and the arrow whizzed past the first bandit's head. With a shout of fright, the scared bandit turned in synchronization to his partner across the room. The one across the room had no time to react and the arrow viciously sent him into the side of the hall. The bandit in front of Ysvor joined him as the powerful lightning hit him dead on.

The two moved forward again, hearing some disorientated shouting in the distance. A few more tunnels later, they found themselves facing their first real problem. Several pendulums shaped like giant axes swung in sync with each other across a good fifteen feet of the tunnel. Ysvor felt himself tense as he quickly realized they would have to navigate their way through the deadly blades. He took a step forward but was stopped by Zhak's hand on his shoulder.

"Hold on. There's a better way." The Orc looked around the ruined desks, apparently scouring around for something. Ysvor watched as the Orc hunted around until he finally found a soul gem, a rather shoddy one judging by size and color. The Orc considered the gem as he came back to stand in front of the pendulum trap. "The gem's only big enough for one of us to make it through. You'd best take it so I can make sure nothing goes wrong with my spell." The Orc passed the gem to a bemused Ysvor who quickly protested.

"Why do I need this? What are you planning, Zhak?"

"I'm going to teleport you to the other side of this trap. There should a lever or something to disable it in the area just beyond, if my experience with ruins is to be trusted. If not, I'll just teleport myself."

"Teleport?" The Orc raised a brow.

"The soul gem establishes a medium to focus on as it can be imbued with magical energy. Simply throw it to the other side and, shattered or not, I can teleport you to its location. Without a medium, teleportation spells vastly drain even a mustard wizard's reserves. With that gem, I can get you over there with about as much energy as it would take for me to scratch my ass."

Ysvor, while still looking quite dubious, watched the trap looking for a timed pattern to provide his chance at a clean throw. He reared back and sent the gem sailing, his timing and strength proving true. The gem made an unnaturally loud crash as it hit the stone floor, littering the area with hundreds of tiny, pink fragments. The Orc nodded at him and closed his eyes, a low hum making its way from his throat.

Ysvor suddenly felt his body begin to feel lighter and lighter. A white glow surrounded him as time slowed to a stop. Then his body was completely weightless and he was being sent through the frozen trap, his body feeling like it had disintegrated instead of that bandit. His vision had blurred beyond recognition and sound had ceased; all he could see was white and all he heard was a howling wind. Then pink seemed to blossom across his vision and gravity reclaimed his body sharply.

He fell to his knees as his stomach threatened to empty itself. Nausea swam over him, washing his senses away in a sea of dizziness. And then, it was suddenly gone. He stood up, noticing that he indeed stood on the other side of the trap and in one piece to boot. He looked back at the Orc in astonishment, who was just beginning to open his eyes. He pointedly made a motion at the trap and Ysvor hunted for a solution. A solution which hung right in front of him in the shape of a pull chain.

The Orc briskly walked right on by and waved away Ysvor's unasked questions. He held up a hand with two digits and readied his axe. He pointed at himself to let Ysvor know he was going first. The room beyond held a giant spider web over the exit, a web that Zhak tore clean through. The formerly indiscernible shouting manifested as pleas for help while the web floated down. Zhak glanced curiously back at Ysvor, making sure he was ready, and shoved his way through the too small, wooden door-frame.

The room beyond was covered in spider webs, the silky substance draping across every surface. Ysvor cast around for the spiders and saw the man at the other end of the room, the webbings wrapping him in a white blanket. He moved towards the man with the intentions of helping him but was jerked back abruptly. He opened his mouth to shout angrily and felt the words die on his tongue.

A giant frostbite spider slammed into the floor where he had stood not even moments ago. His black, beady eyes narrowed in rage as it missed its opening blow. Ysvor realized he would have been killed before he even knew of his attacker had Zhak not snatched him back. The Orc hadn't even broken stride when the spider revealed itself so he was capable of taking a swing at the spider's legs. The spider nimbly leapt over the blade and lashed out with its mandibles. Zhak ducked and swung his axe around under him, bringing the head up into the arachnid's face.

The body hadn't even hit the floor yet and Zhak was already moving towards the prisoner. Ysvor was left in numb shock at the sudden power of Zhak's attack, which hadn't taken less than two seconds. First the Orc has a fancy spell to see people, then he has a fancy spell to teleport, and now he's a killing machine! Ysvor grumbled to himself while moving towards his partner.

"Who are you?" The intimidating Orc asked the trapped person.

"I'm a treasure hunter. Came here looking for gold with those good for nothing bandits as bodyguards. Damned spider caught me by surprise." He glanced at the Orc, who had put his weapon away. "You're going to cut me down aren't you? There's treasure deep within these ruins, locked away in a vault only accessible by a claw shaped key. Cut me down and I'll take ya to it." He pleaded useless pleas seeing as how they had to cut him down to continue deeper into the ruins.

Ysvor's sword sung as it swiftly melted through the webs, letting the man fall to his knees. He slowly made his way back to his feet and Ysvor moved closer to check him over. The man smiled devilishly and reached into his jerkin.

"Gotcha, suckers!" he cried victoriously as he threw exploding smoke bombs onto the ground. "Like I'd really share-" His footsteps, which had been moving away suddenly ceased and a loud thump was heard.

Ysvor, doubled over from his coughing fit from the bombs, could only watch as the smoke cleared. It revealed that the traitorous man had been struck down by lightning magic smoting him square in the back. Zhak was already kneeling over him, searching his pockets for the claw key he had claimed to possess. Ysvor walked over, still coughing slightly, and made sure to give the corpse a sharp kick.

"I'll be damned! Does anything affect you in battle?" Zhak pulled out what looked like a large, golden claw and turned to face Ysvor. He answered him in a monotonous voice void of emotion.

"A true warrior learns to control his feelings in battle. Fear does not exist, courage does not exist, and death does not worry him. There is only the thrill of battle and the next opponent. Glory and honor are earned but not sought. Surprise is eliminated as he is constantly aware of his immediate surroundings. These were the words of my father on my first day of training. They are my code, my mantra by which I judge myself and all others. Now, let us continue." Ysvor was left shocked by the Orc's words and fell several feet behind him, forcing him to nearly run to catch up.

Another turn had Ysvor wondering just how big this damn place was. At least, he was worrying about it until what he saw around that turn had his attention. Lined along the walls stacked from floor to ceiling were dozens of alcoves dug into the hard rock. In each alcove, a preserved body rested. They had finally reached the burial chambers.

Zhak, ever stoic, pressed on unabated by the dead surrounding him. Ysvor followed a little more hesitantly, having grown up on tales of the dead rising when such defilers entered their sacred burial grounds. In all of his many adventures, he had never once set foot inside of an actual Nord burial ground. He shouldered his bow in favor of his blade and followed the Orc.

About a third of the way through the hall, a sudden scraping noise made Ysvor spin around in alarm. Just as the stories foretold, one of the corpses was crawling its way out of its alcove. Sudden fear of the undead rushed through Ysvor on a primal level and he lashed out with far greater force than was necessary. The corpse collapsed as its head rolled.

Ysvor sighed in relief and turned back to the front. He yelped and dived aside as a massive blade came crashing down onto the area where he had just been standing. Several more corpses had resurrected and were engaging him and Zhak. The Orc seemed to be holding his own with ease against the dozen opponents he was given. Ysvor was forced to dodge again as another blade, noticeably smaller this time, whistled past his head.

Unnatural fear now gone, Ysvor felt the rage of battle rushing to take its place. He snarled at the undead around him and lashed out with his blade. The Shadow Blade cut through the rotten flesh with ease and struck down one of his foe. Another pushed it aside and lunged at him with a war axe high overhead. Ysvor, still in motion from his first swing, used that momentum to duck under and around the axe. The undead fell as his blade slid along its ribs.

Sidestepping the massive blade from before, Ysvor spun around and gave the wielder a vicious round kick to the temple. The corpse resumed its rest with nary another groan. Yet, more foes stood and Ysvor found himself soon lost in his dance of death. Only when his blade met empty air did he regain his full senses. He looked around seeing no enemies left and Zhak standing over the charred remains of his last opponent. He glared at the sword and reminded himself to tighten the seal when he got the chance.

"What are these things?" Zhak asked, absentmindedly prodding one with his foot. "I've seen plenty of risen creatures but this is a first." Ysvor glared at his own fallen foes.

"They are called Draugr by us Nords and are found only in the deepest of ruins in Skyrim. They are a part of several children's tales, frightening the young ones into behaving. It is said that they committed great wrong doing in their lives and were punished by eternal undeath. Once stricken down, the soul is free but until then they are forced by their curse to fight."

"So there will be more of them?" Ysvor nodded an affirmative. "We'd best be extra cautious; some of them had considerable skill."

Now that the wave of undeath was finished, they were allowed to resume their journey unabaided. That is until they came to yet another round room, leading Ysvor to question the architectural skill of the ancient Nords. In the center of the room stood a Draugr dressed in ragged and ruined armor. A greatsword was lodged into the ground by his feet and a bow was held in his hands. His eerie blue eyes locked onto the two trespassers as the bow smoothly came up.

Both warriors dived to opposite sides, making for two targets instead of one. As Zhak had said, some of these Draugr were highly skilled and this one proved it. It fired an arrow at Zhak and within the span of two seconds had another headed for Ysvor. The Nord rolled under the projectile, coming up with his own arrow flying. The Draugr turned his back to him, taking the arrow to the armored portion of his back and firing another shot at the Orc. Ysvor lunged forward with his bow, intending to knock his opponent to the ground.

The Draugr suddenly spun and that massive sword was flying right for Ysvor's face. The Nord did the only sensible thing he could: he twisted to the side and raised the bow. The greatsword sunk deep into the ebony bow with enough force to stagger Ysvor. The Draugr yanked his blade out, caring the inner structure of his bow with it. Ysvor was left momentarily weaponless as the Draugr prepared to run him through. It suddenly twitched forward violently and the blade was dropped from its grasp. Those eerie blue eyes faded as the undead creature fell forward, revealing Zhak in its place.

Zhak took notice of the ruined bow and frowned. Ysvor paid it no attention and hastily stooped to sweep up the fallen blade. It was an ancient blade of around four foot in length. The many long years had not dulled its edge though. Ysvor ran his eyes over the massive blade, taking careful notice of the unique engravings upon the crossguard. Never surrender it read in ancient Nordic. A fitting phrase for Ysvor its new owner thought as he laid the blade down.

He pulled his quiver belt off and dropped the useless arrows. A specially designed, adjustable loop was loosened enough to fit the blade's sheath in. Ysvor felt a tad guilty as he took the sheath from the corpse. Then he remembered the reason why this one time man had been made a Draugr and his guilt soon passed. Slinging the blade over his shoulder, he trailed after his Orcish companion.

He caught up with the Orc eyeing another door with his eyes closed. This door had some weird looking lock with animal engrave stones. Zhak opened his eyes as Ysvor approached, the blue flashing for a second reminding him of the Draugr. As he came nearer, Ysvor couldn't help but hear a low, continuous roaring. The Orc noticed the blade now strapped to his back but made no comment. Instead he told Ysvor some very good news.

"I detect nothing on the other side of this door, living or not. From what I can gather, there's a large waterfall on the other side. This is most likely the last chamber, the most likely spot for us to find this Dragonstone." He paused, hesitating for just a second. "I fear some trickery. There is sure to be more guards around but I sense none. Odd in the extreme, be on your guard."

He pulled out the golden claw and examined it. It wasn't a great feat of genius to deduce it was the key to this door. That man had mentioned a unique lock and that the claw was the only key. Zhak stepped forward confidently and inserted the claw, twisting it before pulling it out. A moment of nothing preluded a storm of arrows aimed at the Orc; their source seemed to be from thin air. The Orc raised a magical shield just in time and rode out the surprise assault. Ysvor shook with laughter.

"I'm guessing that wasn't right?" He asked once he had settled down, only the occasional chuckle making its way past his lips.

The Orc grumpily threw the claw at him and stepped away from the door, retreating to a safe distance. Ysvor took the claw and turned it around in his hands. He saw three carvings on the underside that seemed to vaguely resemble the markings on the door. The only problem was they weren't lined up. Being careful not to trigger the same trap Zhak had, Ysvor moved closer to investigate. There was the faintest peeking of more carvings to either side of the visible ones. Ysvor reached out to touch one of them and the whole thing suddenly groaned into action. A carving of a bear was replaced with a carving of an owl.

Ysvor grinned and quickly lined up the pictures. Placing the claw once more into the slots, he gave them a good twist. Immediately he leapt back with the claw in case he was wrong. The moment of silence came once more and then the lock began spinning all of the carvings. They eventually slowed, showing the same animal before descending into the ground with a great screeching.

Inside was a very vast room teeming with natural life. A large waterfall stood off to the left, its freezing waters cascading into gravity's awaiting embrace with a thunderous roar. Contrasting that serenity was the actual room itself; it was basically a glorified cave cut out of the mountain. The tattered remains of what may have once been beautiful carpets and tapestries now lay desolately across the floor. Ysvor had the odd feeling of walking into a graveyard as his obsidian feet crushed the ruined cloth beneath them. The feeling intensified as they passed a few coffins pushed up against the walls, raised upon rock precipices.

"Would ya' look at this place? It must have been truly beautiful here once." Zhak never slowed as his answer came floating back to him.

"All things age and are destroyed. What may have been is irrelevant; all that matters is that this area has what we seek." The spotted a looming wall of carved rock overlooking a lone casket and an ornate chest near the waterfall. "I'd bet that chest holds the Dragonstone."

The two adventurers closed in on the chest, both walking slowly and deliberately. It was highly likely that the area was booby-trapped in some fashion so they took every precaution available. There diligence paid off when Ysvor heard the sound of stone scraping against stone as he depressed a rigged tile. From the area over the wall, a storm of arrows leapt forth, seeking their flesh with an animalistic hunger. Zhak quickly threw up a magical barrier, the large Orc never even batting an eye.

Ysvor peered out from under the protective cover as it rippled while the arrows sought a path through it. That wall, it was covered in what looked like ancient ruins. Ruins so old that not even he knew what they said. But that wall, it seemed to almost…_call _to him. It spoke whispers of power to him, faint enough that he doubted their authenticity. The longer he looked at it, the stronger the whisperings became. As the arrows died out, he briskly made his way closer. The whispers now solidified as words spoken in an unrecognizable tongue.

He nearly swore when he got within twenty feet of the thing; one of the carved words was _glowing!_ It was this word, he realized in a sudden moment of insight, that kept being repeated through his mind now. The voice spoke it over and over again, gradually rising in intensity as he narrowed the distance. At last, he was within arm's reach of the smooth stone. As his hand fell upon the glowing stone, it actually peeled itself away from the wall and crawled up his arm in a spiral of blue light. The word instantly clicked with something buried inside of him and he understood its meaning. This word was push, the act of physically shoving something.

He felt the armored hand of the Orc grip his shoulder. He looked over said shoulder to see the Orc looking at him quizzically. He asked the Orc why he was being subjugated to such a look as he turned away from the wall.

"What's with this wall? You randomly walk up to it and touch it and suddenly there's this gale that sweeps through." Ysvor in turn looked at the ground, seeing the ragged carpet was indeed more scattered.

"You didn't see it? The glowing word?" Zhak opened his mouth, his eyes clearly revealing his suspicions about his comrade's sanity. The words never fell from his mouth for the casket chose that moment to shudder.

Both warriors whipped around at the noise, naked steel flashing in the cave's radiant sunlight. They watched as the casket again shuddered, this time the lid rising marginally. It shuddered a third time before eerily growing still. Zhak and Ysvor exchanged a worried look, both were experienced enough to know this spoke ill of their situation. Zhak, being the closer of the two, stepped forward to investigate. He had barely made it three steps before the casket's lid exploded off, showering them with dust and dirt and releasing a build-up of magical energy. Both fighters were sent to the ground, or in Ysvor's case crashing against the wall of words.

His groggy eyesight barely made out the blurred image as it excavated itself from its former prison. Groaning form the dull pain in his head, he shook his head to clear his focus. He succeeded partially and now was laid witness to the well armored Draugr standing before him. It was tall and wore battered armor, a step up from the others they had encountered so far. In its right hand it held an ebony war axe while the left bore an obsidian shield.

Realizing the current danger rather abruptly, Ysvor surged to his feet, swaying only slightly. He took uneasy stock of Zhak lying unconscious a few feet in front of and to the left of him. He also noticed the foreboding absence of his Shadow Blade. Swallowing his disorientation, he pulled his new sword off of his back and held it before him in a ready stance. The Draugr quickly came at him, those shining blue eyes radiating with malevolence.

Ysvor used the greatsword's superior length to bat the opening strike aside and rammed his shoulder into the undead. He met its shield but the force still sent it a few steps back. Ysvor instantly lashed out with the hilt of his large sword, bashing against the things helmet. With a quick shake of its head, Ysvor suddenly realized it didn't feel pain. Gritting his teeth, he charged with the sword held high above him. The Draugr, obviously quite skilled, side-stepped and spun around to take advantage of his open back.

Ysvor rolled with his forward momentum, taking him outside of the axe's range. He watched the blade of the weapon come up mere inches short of his breastplate, rearing his own weapon back to impale the creature. He was not expecting the backhanded shield bash to his face. The Draugr pressed the advantage with two swift, short, and controlled slashes, forcing Ysvor onto the defensive. However, the Nord had one advantage over the undead monster.

As suddenly as the tides of battle had placed him on defense they now put him on the attack. A ducked wipe allowed him to deliver a punishing roundhouse kick to the Draugr's side. As it recoiled with the force of the blow, Ysvor lashed out with magical fire and set the damn thing on fire. A screech was his only response as the thing realized it was burning into oblivion and threw its axe and shield. Ysvor managed to easily dodge both of the impromptu projectiles.

The burning thing had one last attempt to kill him, one last trick up its sleeve. It calmed itself and the screeching slowly died away. The rushing falls and the sound of burning flesh filled the otherwise quiet cave. It was then that the Draugr spoke the word. From its mouth, a conic halo of blue light erupted. The light traveled fast, with the speed of the wind, and Ysvor was forced to take the blast head-on. He was surprised as he found himself picked up by an unknown force and threw violently into the wall yet again. His helmeted head hit the stone with a resounding crash and he immediately felt unconsciousness claim him. The last thing he saw was the creature fall to its knees, the fire finally forcing it into submission.


	8. Chapter 8

**Well guys, I'm back after a little break. I've been thinking of putting up a preview of what's going to happen later in this story. Like a chapter from the far future to draw a little bit more attention. It's going to be a while before this story itself actually sets in and really starts shining after all. Just thought I'd get some opinions on it before then.**

**Ch. 8: Returning Legend**

Ysvor slowly felt himself returning to the world of the living. His head throbbed something awful and he felt as if he had been thrown through a wall. A dim light, a single sliver of a silver glare, cut across his eyes as they cracked open. He groaned in pain but felt himself rousing even more. The throbbing in his head spiked as he fully opened his eyes, forcing him to shut them once again. He decided to roll onto his stomach and try to get to his feet that way. His body, sore and bruised from the fight, argued.

He suddenly snapped to a sitting position as the entirety of the fight came back to him. He ignored the protests of his body as he swayed to his feet, craning his aching neck this way and that. He caught sight of Zhak lying at the bottom of the steps. The slow rise and fall of his chest meant he was knocked out not dead. His sword lay a few feet away, right next to the charred corpse of the Draugr. He moved cautiously to retrieve his blade, keeping in mind that this thing was already dead once.

He picked up the white sword as he curiously considered the burnt husk. He had fought several Draugr over his career but had never seen one use such a power. It felt like a gale wind had slammed him into the wall yet all it had done was speak. He cast his eyes back to the strange wall, thinking of the event. He repeated the word that he had learned from the wall and was struck with a sense of familiarity. Looking back at the Draugr, he recognized the word as the one it had spoken. Did that mean the word was the source of that strange power?

His thoughts were cut short as Zhak, temporarily forgotten, stirred. Ysvor rushed down the steps to help him back to his feet. The Orc seemed unaffected by his fall as he had no problems with raising himself and walking silently over to the burnt corpse. He looked down at it, examining the thing before he repeated the action with the unusual wall.

"I assume that this thing's death is by your hand?" Ysvor nodded as the Orc looked back at him. His agreement was accepted and the Orc tapped his canine thoughtfully. "What happened while I was out?"

"That thing there used a power I've never seen before. It spoke a word and this energy just…pushed me against the wall. It was skilled with the blade so I burned the damn thing. The last action was that word and it left me unconscious."

"What word was it?" Ysvor looked past the Orc nervously. He didn't want to tell this part for even he was unsure of what it meant. "It was a word from this wall, wasn't it?" Ysvor started, blinking at the Orc's assessment in shock.

"How…How'd you know?" The Orc turned back to the wall, looking even more deeply in thought.

"I didn't. You just told me though." Ysvor glared at the Orc's back.

"The wall seemed to speak to me. The word it gave me I do not recognize. But, the wall also gave me this…this _understanding _of the word." Zhak glanced over his shoulder in open curiosity yet made no comment.

"Retrieving the Dragonstone was our mission. This wall was an unexpected find but seems to be harmless now. We should get the stone and leave now." Ysvor nodded as Zhak moved over to the Draugr's now empty coffin. He picked up the large stone and placed it within his bag without so much as a glance at it. Ysvor moved toward the exit as Zhak stooped. He looked back to see the Orc picking up the Draugr's ebony war axe. Ysvor nearly tripped over something as he had turned his attention to the Orc. He looked down to see the obsidian shield that had been thrown. He considered the shield for a moment before shrugging. If Zhak was going to take a keepsake then he would too. He slung the shield over his shoulder, hooking it to the belt of his greatsword within easy reach.

"Ahh, our heroes return!" Jarl Balgruuf shouted over the din of his dining party. The richly dressed Nord stood and beckoned the two armored men towards a side room. Farengar also moved into the room. "If you will excuse me, I have important matters to discuss." The Jarl excused himself and closed the door behind him.

"So, did you get it?' Farengar asked, acting like a child waiting for his mother to buy him a sweet roll. Zhak spoke as he reached inside of his bag.

"We retrieved the stone successfully." Farengar cried out in muted happiness as the large hunk of engraved rock became visible. He nearly snatched it away from the Orc, as if he were afraid that Zhak would drop it.

"Oh, this is wonderful! My research wasn't for nothing after all! My associate will be most pleased with this discovery!"

"Associate?" Ysvor asked in a state of confusion. Farengar nodded excitedly nearly throwing his own hood off.

"Yes, we've been trying to determine the locations of ancient dragon burial mounds. We know roughly where they are but the Dragonstone is basically a map to each of the mounds."

"Whatever the thing does is inconsequential. We did the job; now where is our pay?" Zhak spoke roughly. Ysvor shot him an amused look; wasn't it the Orc that had chastised him for his greed?

"Aye." Balgruuf nodded. "You two did well. Please accept this token of my appreciation-"

The door was suddenly slammed open, making all within turn their attention to the panting form of Irelith. Balgruuf opened his mouth to protest the intrusion but was silenced by Irelith pushing a guardsman through the entrance while yelling for him to speak.

"My Jarl, I'm assigned to the western watchtower. You won't believe this but a…a damn dragon swooped upon us. It breathed its horrid fire upon the tower as we tried to repel it but it's too strong. They sacrificed several men so that I could escape unnoticed. I've never ran that fast in my life." Balgruuf and the rest of the room gazed at the guard for several seconds in shocked silence. Then, as quickly as it had escalated, the Jarl was issuing orders.

"Irelith, I want you to take a squadron to the tower. Find out what's going." She saluted and backed out. "And Irelith, remember that I need to know what's going on. This isn't about glory; don't get killed for nothing."

"Of course, my Jarl. Caution is my middle name." With that, the Dark Elf was off.

"Guardsman, return to the barracks. You've done well by bringing us this information but we'll handle it for now. Get some well-earned rest." Balgruuf turned back to Zhak, Ysvor, and Farengar as the guard saluted and left. "My new friends, I hate to ask it of you but there is no time. I can't afford to stand on ceremony at this time. You have the most experience with these dragons. You two are the best hope for killing it."

"Of course. We'll reinforce Irelith and bring you that beast's head." Zhak said. Ysvor, while not completely comfortable with the idea, saw the sense in attacking in a group. He nodded his consent as well.

"Then go, and may the gods watch over you." The last thing they heard was Balgruuf arguing with Farengar about him not going.

"There's the watchtower." Zhak spoke. Ysvor could clearly see the burning ruins of what may have once been a tower. "Looks like the coast is clear for the moment. Let's get in there."

The made their way up to the burning ruins, taking care to hide behind whatever cover they could find. Even this far away from the tower there were bodies lying about. Ysvor felt the trepidation building inside of him as they drew close. Something seemed off about the place. A flash of movement in one of the burning windows made them both pause.

"Zhak? Ysvor?" Irelith called from the window. "Be careful, that thing is still out there. It trapped me and my men in here." Zhak opened his mouth to answer but a sudden pressure silenced him.

A loud thump, like a tent being snapped open, rang across the dark landscape. From the top of the tower, a huge black shape detached itself. The beating of dragon wings was a sound still relatively new to Ysvor, but he knew that he would never forget the unmistakable sound. It brought a cold knot of fear to his stomach.

Zhak cursed as he noticed the dragon rising. He sent a bolt of lightning arcing towards it, showing them that the beast was smaller than the one at Helgen and a near blue color. The dragon swerved aside and the powerful magic soared past it. It roared a battle cry as fire danced from its jaws. Ysvor and Zhak were forced to roll in different directions to avoid the flames. Ysvor shot a fireball at its retreating back scoring a blow to one of its wings.

The beast screamed in pain as the magic blasted at its wing. It circled around, weaving its way through their spells and landed on top of the tower again. It roared again and let its own fireball shoot forth. Zhak bared his shoulder as the ball of flaming death slammed into him. His own magic dispelled the fire around his body, building it into a return fireball of twice the power. The dragon was caught square in the face by the spell and nearly fell off of the tower.

It roared again as it took to the skies again. It flew away for a distance before it began circling the two warriors. Zhak and Ysvor stuck close to one another as the beast flew around, always keeping itself just out of range of their magic.

"I have an idea." Zhak stated. "I'm going to make a break for the tower to draw its attention. When it comes for me, you need to hit it with everything you have. Agreed?"

"Wait1 It seems awfully simple, not to mention dangerous."

"The best plans often are." The Orc suddenly shot off, leaving Ysvor to cry out in surprise. The dragon, as expected, noticed the sudden movement. It angled itself towards the tower, intending to land in front of the Orc. The maneuver placed it within range of both spell-casters, both of whom started throwing whatever they could at the beast. The dragon, to its credit, again weaved expertly through the spells.

However, it surprised not only Ysvor, but Zhak as well by speaking the word from Bleak Falls Barrow. Ysvor's eyes widened as he realized the significance of the word and tried to call out a warning. He was too late and Zhak, despite all of his power, was sent reeling into a cluster of ruins. He didn't rise out of them and the dragon wheeled back into the sky. Ysvor had already set off towards the Orc by this time. Zhak was their best hope for killing this dragon after all.

The dragon followed him, breathing fire down his back whenever it could. Ysvor narrowly avoided each one but was clipped by the beast's wing. He was sent tumbling across the road but managed to roll back onto his feet. He turned to the dragon and set his feet as it reared around for another charge. He gritted his teeth as he began to charge up for a spell. He felt his fingers go numb from the frigidness of the spell he was casting. Frost and even snow whipped around his form as the beast drew closer. It opened its mouth to breathe that fire once again, giving Ysvor a perfect shot.

A huge spear made of solid ice protected by a small snow storm shot from his hands. The snow protected the spear from the fire as steam shrouded Ysvor's vision. The cry of pain was unmistakable and the splashing of warm blood on his shoulders nearly forced him to his knees. The thing's blood drops were the size of a child! Ysvor heard the dragon crash onto the ground behind him.

Drawing his blade, he moved through the mist towards where he could hear the dragon's thrashing. He ducked a sudden blast of fire as the dragon tried to melt the icicle stuck in its throat. He retaliated by blasting that direction with lightning, eliciting another pained cry. He was nearly hit by the beast's tail as it swung around but managed to vault over by the smallest of margins.

Suddenly, the dragon loomed out of the mist in all its terrifying glory. Its amber eyes instantly honed in on Ysvor and it roared a challenge. Its head snaked out with startling speed as it tried to catch the Nord in its jaws. The teeth, each the size of a large dagger, snapped closed inches from Ysvor's chestplate as the Nord leaned away. He lashed out with his own swift attack and scored a gash across the creature's scaly nose. It snapped its head around sideways, sending the Nord to the ground.

Fire washed over the Nord as a hastily cast ward protected him from most of the damage. He still felt some of the immense heat seep through his barrier. The fire ended and Ysvor was back on his feet, this time grabbing the shield off of his back as well. The dragon breathed the fire onto him again but this time, Ysvor raised the shield while enveloping it in his ward spell. He was able to press himself forward through the inferno until he was close enough to strike the dragon.

It cried in pain as Ysvor severed its wing. It retaliated by swiping him with the damaged wing, sending him tumbling down the road again. This time, however, he rolled over a small hill overlooking the road. He let out an oof as the wind was violently knocked from his lungs by the stone ground. He groaned as he rolled over onto his hands and knees. He looked back to see the dragon preparing to bathe him in fire once again. His magic reserves had never been truly massive and as such, he was unable to cast his ward spell again. He watched as the dragon parted its bloody jaws, watched as the flames bubbled up its throat.

In that single moment of utter terror, he realized that he wasn't afraid of the dragon. No, he was afraid of death. He still had things that needed to be resolved, things that needed doing. He couldn't die here. But he couldn't see a way to save himself either. This dragon would kill him.

As that particular thought hit him, something clicked in his head. Power rushed through his blood, magical power that is. Its source was unknown but the power itself was incredible. The word from the wall resounded through his head. He knew this word and the power was giving him a strange desire. Deciding to trust this new power, he spoke.

"_Fus!"_

A black aura shot from his mouth. It did not take the halo form that the Draugr's had. Rather, it seemed more like a wild blast of pressure instead of the disciplined blast of force that he had been subjected to. The black aura slammed into the dragon just as the fire was leaving its mouth. Said mouth was torn open and the fire imploded upon the dragon. It didn't even have time to cry out as it was nearly torn apart by the inner explosion.

As boiled dragon blood rained down upon him, Ysvor found himself staring in awe at the spot where he had faced sure death. The word had saved him somehow, granted him with an incredible ability. He wondered if he would be able to do it again. He rose shakily to his feet, feeling the weariness weigh at him. He decided now was not the time to attempt it again. Instead he moved towards where the Orc had fallen.

Zhak had already clawed his way out of the rubble and had witnessed the dragon's death. He was staring at Ysvor as he approached quizzically. He opened his mouth to make a comment but was beat to the punch by the miraculously freed guardsmen.

"Hail the Dragonslayer!" They cried as they circled around the two of them. Ysvor nervously looked back at what was left of the dragon, blocking out the guards. It was because of this that he noticed Irelith prodding the corpse.

A light began to shine from the charred remains, causing Irelith to leap back with a curse. Everyone suddenly returned to battle mode as the corpse begin to glow brighter and brighter. The light lazily spiraled away from the corpse, setting everyone on even more of an edge. But it bee-lined for Ysvor, who watched in unknown understanding. This felt _right_ for some reason. The light enveloped him, encircling him within a glowing aura as it violently began to speed up. Zhak reached forward worriedly but was waved away by Ysvor.

The light brought with it several impressions and feelings. The impression of flying, of feeling the wind beneath his wings. The feeling of pain as it exploded by its own internal fire. Ysvor began to form a theory as to what this light was but was cut off as several memories were played out in front of his eyes. He went through the memory of birth, of hunting prey, of several battles, and even the memory of death and… resurrection? As he found that one, the light seeped within him taking the unexplored memories with it but leaving several lingering thoughts. In the back of his head he heard the word, Dovahkiin.

He returned to his surroundings and was met with bewildered gazes by the guards. Zhak and Irelith watched him warily. They had obviously observed the incident.

"By the gods," one of the guards was saying. "I can't believe it. Dragonborn, the legendary slayer of dragons." Ysvor looked at the guard.

"Dragonborn?"

"Aye, the Dragonborn was said to have been able to absorb the souls of fallen dragons. That is what you did isn't it? That light and all had to have been its soul."

"I don't know what it was, but I definitely absorbed something from it." The guards begin to murmur amongst themselves.

"You must be Dragonborn! That power you used was a Shout wasn't it? You haven't had any training; only the Dragonborn can shout without training."

"I'm sorry but what's a Shout?" The other Nords stared blankly at him.

"How can you be a Nord and not know what a shout is?"

"Calm down," Irelith commanded. "Whether he is Dragonborn or not isn't important. What is important is that we slayed this dragon. We'd best get back and report this."

The guards grumbled but they eventually left, leaving Ysvor and Zhak alone with the burnt dragon. Zhak simply stared at the corpse as Ysvor looked anywhere but it. They stood there for several long moments until a crack of lightning heralded the arrival of more rain. Unsurprising really, it was the rainy season after all. What followed was not thunder, but an overbearingly powerful word.

"_DOVAHKIIN!"_

The word shook the very ground beneath their feet with its force. Zhak never took his eyes off of the corpse but Ysvor cast his eyes around, looking for the source of the voice. Yet, the word seemed to ring from nowhere but everywhere at the same time. It stretched on for several moments until it finally died out. Only then did Zhak look at him.

"No matter what has happened here today, no matter what you or I think, no matter what they may think, you definitely have a unique power. I'd wager that call was for you but from whom?" He stared off for a few seconds. "We'd best get back too."

Justicar Dante sat at his cluttered desk, desperately searching through the towering paperwork for something. He cursed to himself as one of the stacks tilted over and littered the floor with its content. Just as he began to rise from his chair, his office door was slammed open sending the scattered papers flying through the office. Grumpily, he cast his eyes towards the gaping doorway and forced himself to bite back his sharp retort.

One of the lower ranked Thalmor, Eric he believed, was standing in the doorway. He was trying to speak while gasping for breath. Dante merely motioned for him to take a seat; he was not known for his kindness. He waited patiently for the younger elf to catch his breath, curiously wondering what could be of such importance.

"Justicar," Eric finally made out between gasps. "The Orc who attacked our team in Riverwood was spotted in Whiterun. Apparently, the city was under threat of dragon attack." Dante raised a hand to pause the Thalmor.

"Dragon? You are sure it was a dragon?"

"Yes. Our spy was certain it was a dragon, like the one who destroyed Helgen. Our mystery Orc seemingly killed it. The Nords hail him as 'Dragonborn,' one of their ancient heroes just like their false god." Dante stared past even the walls of his office as he pondered this news. While not exactly shocking or completely unexpected, it was worrisome. He debated their next course of action.

"Send a letter to Elenwen telling her what you just told me. Inform her that, as chief of Thalmor militant operations in Skyrim, we will have this Orc, this Zhak, followed and captured for questioning." Eric nodded. "But before you do that, fetch me Aaron." The far younger elf stood up to bow before taking his leave. Dante turned back to his disastrous paperwork as his face became instantly darker. This Orc would rue the day he dared to attack his men.


	9. Chapter 9

**Hello again, everyone. I know it has been quite some time since my last update. I can blame it on finals week, writer's block, blah blah. Truth is, I lacked the motivation to do it. I struggled trying to figure out how to start this chapter and actually gave up after a while. Anyway, as you've noticed this stories name and summary have both been changed. This is because my plans for this story have once again changed. I'll explain more at the bottom. See you there!**

**Ch. 9: From the Shadows**

Jarl Balgruuf leaned back against the headrest of his lavish bed. He had heard Irelith's tale about the dragon but hearing it from the one who had actually killed it…well, it was a lot to take in especially all at once. The Jarl sighed as his fingertips massaged his temples; his headache was a direct result of the last few days' stress, particularly his deep thinking about his problems. As if he hadn't enough with Ulfric's near constant badgering on top of the daily responsibilities of his position, now he had to worry about dragons razing his hold.

Ysvor politely cleared his throat, reminding the Jarl that his duties were not yet completed. Balgruuf opened his eyes and looked both of his guests over. Zhak was the one looking worse for wear; his armor was covered in dirt and had one large dent in the chestplate. Ysvor, by comparison, was covered in the dragon's blood and other grime. Both were relatively unharmed and both were expecting compensation.

"You two have done me and my people a great service." Balgruuf spoke suddenly. "By slaying this dragon you've potentially averted what would have surely been a slaughter otherwise. For that, you have my deepest gratitude." Zhak stirred rather restlessly as Ysvor ran a hand over his mohawk.

"My Jarl," the merc spoke, careful not to sound offensive. The last thing he needed was an angry noble breathing down his neck. "While your favor is certainly well received, I hope you understand that we are expecting other means of payment." Balgruuf cracked a small smile at the Nord's careful words.

"But of course, Ysvor Dragonslayer. You'll find my steward has already arranged a suitable sum to be awaiting your return to the throne room. However, if I may bother the both of you for but a second, I have one more gift."

"Go on." Zhak said, not even bothering to consider his words. Balgruuf put his fingers together in front of his face and leaned his forehead onto them.

"Though some in my court will disapprove of the action, I would like to extend an invitation of Thaneship to both of you. It's the best way I can show my gratitude. Neither of you have to accept but the offer is open." Without hesitation, Zhak spoke quickly, his words bordering disrespect.

"I'll have to turn the offer down, Jarl Balgruuf. I have other duties back home in Orsinium that will require my attentions once I return. I can't have loyalties here to weigh me down."

"Understandable. And you, Ysvor?" The mentioned Nord looked away as he considered the offer.

"On two conditions. One, I want to retain my full traveling rights. Two, I don't want a seat at the palace table." Balgruuf was a clever man and saw the true meaning of Ysvor's words. He wanted the benefits of being Thane without several of the responsibilities. However, his presence was not something that would be crucial so they could afford to cut him some slack.

"Agreed." Balgruuf reached into his bedside cabinet and pulled out a strand of cloth. "This will be your badge of office. You are not compelled to wear it but it is the symbol people use to recognize my nobles."

Ysvor humbly accepted the gift. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out how to wear it. He was undoubtedly going to become involved in combat so slinging it over his shoulder wasn't a good idea. Come to think of it, actually wearing the thing in the first place wasn't a good idea. He shrugged the problem away and tied the cloth around his waist for now, resolving to place it in a better position later. Balgruuf continued to speak once Ysvor finished the knot.

"Based on what I have been told and from what I can gather, that loud shout the pounded upon our eardrums was work of the Greybeards."

"The Greybeards?" Zhak asked, showing actual interest in the conversation now.

"Aye. They're a rather secluded lot, prefer to keep to themselves and let the world take care of itself. They made their home high up on the tallest mountain in Skyrim, the Throat of the World, and practice the Way of the Voice. It's an ancient, pacifist religion based on one using the power of what is known as 'The Voice.'"

"What's this got to do with me?" Ysvor asked. "Why have they taken an interest in me? And what does that word mean, 'Dovahkiin?'" Balgruuf turned towards his fellow Nord with wide eyes and a look of disbelief etched onto his face.

"Surely you jest? Have you not heard the stories? What kind of Nord are you that doesn't even know his own history?" Ysvor's brow furrowed as confusion became clear on his face; he didn't like the way Balgruuf spoke of his ancestry. Even Zhak spared a confused glance to the merc. "Bah, it matters not. Listen well, mind you. Dovahkiin is a word taken from the dragon language. It means 'Dragonborn,' one who is born with the soul of a dragon. They say these 'Dragonborn' all have special powers, that they are more powerful than any mortal should be. Tiber Septim, Talos himself, was Dragonborn and look where he ended up?" Ysvor's eyebrows rose to their highest spot as he cast his eyes towards his Orcish friend, who only arched a single brow at the surprising news. "But Dragonborns were believed to have become extinct, that they died of with Martin Septim at the end of the Third Era. The Greybeards would not make such a mistake so easily. If they believe you're Dragonborn, then that's good enough for me."

"It would be a wise move then to see them as quickly as possible." Zhak spoke up, leaving no room for arguing as he stood from his chair. Ysvor followed suit but made a note to excuse himself from the Jarl's presence. He could feel Balgruuf's eyes on them as they walked through the door and felt that the Jarl wanted to say more. But he didn't so Ysvor shut the door and left him to his peace; it was quite late after all.

A strange hooded man sat at the bar of the Winking Skeever, stealing small glances at his surrounding patronage. He had sat there for several hours now and had only ordered a few drinks. He gave off a sinister vibe, a fact which was making the barmaid very uncomfortable. She watched as the stranger's hooded head followed a new customer, a middle aged dark elf, to a table in the back corner. The hooded man drained his drink and left several Septims on the bar as he stood and walked over to the very same corner table.

The dark elf watched as the man dressed completely in black, form hiding clothes walked slowly over to his table. From what he had noticed of him at the bar, he was wearing a black cloak complete with a matching cowl and dark leathers underneath. The man pulled him from his musings as he asked him a simple question.

"Mind if I join you?" The voice was smooth and a cool but there was a very specific undertone that nearly made the elf shivered.

"Not at all." The man lowered himself into the offered chair, sitting so he was facing the door. "The names Ravys, by the way. Might I ask for yours?" The hooded man cut him a glare that put his scarlet eyes in full view. Ravys was suddenly very worried by this obscure stranger, even if he was a paying customer.

"My name is unimportant. I do not care for your pleasantries. I have heard that you're an elf that is _well informed_." Their conversation died as the waitress walked up and took Ravys's order. As soon as she left, the man leaned in closer and spoke much more quietly. "I'm looking for a particular Orc. He was last known seen in Riverwood attacking some Thalmor agents. I'll pay well for _any_ information." Ravys leaned back, relaxing himself into his chair and crossing his arms.

"Down to business eh? You're in luck; an Orc taking out a Thalmor patrol isn't something you see every day. I've heard a few different tales but I _can _show you someone that will definitely know." The hooded stranger reviewed his words analytically as the elf's ordered food was brought to the table. Once she left, they resumed their conversation.

"Your price for showing me to this friend of yours?"

"Four hundred Septims. He'll probably charge you a significantly greater amount for his actual information." The hooded man nodded as he pulled a coin purse from his pocket it seemed. The money was discreetly passed under the table. "Go to Whiterun, ask for a guy named Rhaz, he's a Khajit. He'll get you your information." The hooded man nodded as he stood from his chair and left without another word.

Ysvor sat in the common room of the Bannered Mare, sipping slowly on his Honningbrew Mead. He had always preferred the taste of Black-Briar, the mead was sweet but spicy and really tantalized your tongue. Honningbrew was still good quality and a choice for many but he preferred that little kick. Across from him, Zhak was devouring a thick slab of horker meat. His thick chewing was clearly audible but Ysvor chose not to comment on it.

Despite the strangeness of their initial meeting, the Nord was beginning to enjoy having the Orc around. They say that a special bond is formed in the midst of battle, that you have to be able to trust the man at your back and he you. Ysvor snorted to himself; Zhak was far from his "shield-brother." His snort drew the Orc's attention away from his food long enough for the Orc to pose a question.

"How are you taking it?" Ysvor looked across the room, his eyes not really seeing. He knew what the Orc meant but he himself was unsure of the answer.

"It's just all…strange. I knew I was special the day I picked up a sword but I never imagined this. It's a lot to take in, finding out you may be some ancient legend descended from a godly bloodline. I'd say I'm coping rather well all things considered." Zhak looked him in the eye for his next words.

"I know how it feels for your life to suddenly change on you. Whether it be your position in life or your outlook on it, the base decisions still remain with you. You are still free to make your own decisions about these things; no mortal can take that away from you."

"And gods can?" Ysvor saw a small flicker of a smile on the Orc's face.

"Mostly. There are a few individuals powerful enough to defy even them though." Ysvor chuckled at the Orc's implications. He had to admit, outside of that terrifying armor the massive elf was a lot less intimidating. Outside of battle he was even enjoyable. But Ysvor's mood quickly sobered as he stared hard into his mug.

"I'll leave in the morning for High Hrothgar. It's best not to put off this meeting with the Greybeards especially if what Balgruuf said is true." Ysvor raised his eyes to the Orc. "I doubt you want to come along with me. You're probably eager to return home to Orsinium." Zhak, having finally finished he meaty meal, leaned back in his chair as he hailed their waitress for more mead. He then addressed Ysvor's question.

"I must admit, I am quite eager to see how my home has changed. Yet, I have a feeling that what's going on here is something far bigger than what we are being told. I can't travel home with a clear conscious as long as these thoughts are plaguing me. I'll stick around Whiterun, see what else I can dig up about our Thalmor friends and the current state of affairs. Knowledge is power after all."

"Aye, that it is." Ysvor agreed as he raised his cup as the waitress sat down Zhak's fresh mug. "A toast to good hunting, safe travels, and new battle-brothers." Zhak grabbed his cup, hesitating for a second before he slammed the iron mug into Ysvor's own. With twin throaty yells, they downed their mead and called attention in the entire room to themselves. Ysvor stood and raised his voice.

"Have I ever told you all of the time I met that pyromaniac while escorting Myvern's caravan to Bruma? A fine lass that was, with her fiery hair and sharp tongue. Too bad she decided to raid the caravan. I think we had a special bond together. After all, the feelings burned with an intense blaze." His half drunken words spurred the crowd into laughter as he delved into one of his many adventures as a mercenary.

Deep, deep underground a sole figure stood before an obsidian slab. The figure was dressed in a deep crimson cloak with gold plates offering limited protection. His black hair, slicked back, contrasted strongly with his pale skin. What was even more unsettling about this person were his golden eyes. He flashed a grin at the silent slab of rock, revealing his teeth were considerably sharper than normal.

"Hmhmhmhm. It looks like your puppet is finally on the move, Valec." The stranger spoke in a smooth almost regal voice. "I wonder if he knows the truth behind his 'gift?'" The slab glowed a soft blue as the cavern slightly rumbled. Indecipherable words were spoken, recognized only by their sounds. The pale man had no trouble hearing them however for he presented a swift answer. "Oh come now, Valec, surely you don't still hold that grudge? It's been millennia after all." More rumbling. "Fine, maybe you do hate me after all this time. But we are still brothers of blood, both born from the very flesh of Molag Bal himself. We are the only _true _vampires still plaguing this world. Well, I am still plaguing. I don't think you get out much do you?" The rumbling intensified for a second. "Fine, fine. I'll leave you to your rest. I only stopped by to tell you that our plan is finally being put into motion. Have no fear, old friend, I'll see you soon." With that, the vampire turned and walked away, not so much as glancing over his shoulder.

**Yeah, I know, not a lot of action in this chapter. There were a few things that I needed to take care of and so this is the result. You may can already guess several things I'm setting up so you'll understand that I have to be very careful about it. The story changes I mentioned earlier are basically just extenders for the original story. This arc just can't be called that anymore as it's now more personal. Anyway, that's enough from me. Let me know what you guys think with a review or else it may take another two months to get the next chapter. We'll see**


	10. Chapter 10

**Another chapter. This one was quite interesting to write. Now, I've had a few questions come up about the Orcs. According to Bethesda, Orcs are, in fact, a species of elves. Don't believe me? Google it. Now, on to the chapter!**

**Ch. 10: Discovering Truths**

Zhak was sitting in the tavern the next morning considering his options. Ysvor had long since left for High Hrothgar. Zhak recalled him mentioning something about taking the carriage as well as his dark look. He chuckled as he briefly wondered what his new friend had against carriages, resolving to ask him later. He was drawn out of his musings as a rather large Nord sat down in front of him.

Zhak eyed the Nord up. His armor was a coagulation of iron and leather straps. A large sword was thrown over his back, his muscular frame suggesting he knew well how to wield it. His helmet sat rather loosely around his head, allowing his sandy blonde hair to poke out from underneath it. His blue eyes stared at the Orc with a steely glare, as if the Nord didn't approve of the Orc but was forced to allow him passage in his homeland. Zhak felt his brow draw as his neutral expression became a frown.

"Hey there, traveler." The Nord spoke, each word laced with a hidden venom. Zhak, used to the few royals in Orsinium using the exact same tactics, easily saw through the poor attempt to hide the hatred. Nords were known for their hatred of elven races so it wasn't unexpected that the Orc would come across a die-hard before long. "You're just passing through?"

"Actually, I'm staying here for a few more nights. I have certain things I need to find out. You wouldn't be able to assist me, would you?" His well-chosen words sparked a sudden anger in the Nord's eyes, confirming Zhak's initial feelings. Zhak also picked up on the sudden quietness of the tavern; apparently this brute was known for causing trouble. Zhak smiled as he sensed their nervousness. He extended his hand to the Nord. "I'm Zhak by the way." The Nord eyed his hand with slight disgust, seeming affronted that this _thing _even dared believe they were equals.

"Listen," The Nord growled as he slapped the Orc's hand aside. "We don't take very kindly to outsiders, especially greenskins like you." His hand drifted up towards his sword while he spoke. Zhak tensed, preparing for the confrontation. "You'd be wise to leave now before someone gets hurt."

"You can't force me to leave. Take my word for it, you're not stronger than I."

That seemed to finally set the Nord off. His eyes bulged as he shot from his chair, greatsword sweeping off of his back as he lunged for the Orc. Zhak was unarmored and thus, significantly faster. He lashed out with his left hand and sent the table flipping over on top of the Nord, preventing his attack before it even happened. He lunged forward, tackling both the table and the armored Nord, and rolling over the wreckage. He spun around and reached forward with his right hand, plunging it into the mess and swiftly removed the Nord's helm.

The pissed off Nord threw the ruined table off of him as he began to regain his feet. Zhak made to bash him over the head with his own helmet but was stopped by an armored fist being thrusted into his gut. As the Orc stumbled back, the Nord rose back to his feet with his large sword in hand. Zhak, seeing his now apparent disadvantage, raised both of his hands in front of his face. The Nord snarled as he misinterpreted the sign for surrender and charged forward. Zhak actually was casting a spell, summoning a long and thin pole in his hands.

The Nord saw this too late to stop himself and focused on bisecting his foe. Zhak sidestepped the blow and spun the pole around his body, bringing it down on the Nord's iron back with a loud clang. The Nord was unharmed but the force of the strike sent him to his knees. Again, he snarled before throwing himself at his opponent with a hearty war cry. Zhak narrowed his eyes as he awaited the opportune moment to end this foolish struggle.

He raised his pole so that one end was directly facing the Nord while the other pointed behind him. The Nord swung at the pole, knocking it aside and continuing his charge. Unfortunately for him, Zhak was planning on this factor. He used the momentum to spin himself far faster than he normally could have, swinging the other end of his pole with all of his devastating might. The Nord saw it coming but it was far too fast for him to block or duck. From his eyes, the Orc blurred to the right and then pain exploded on the left side of his face. He instantly was knocked out and sent crashing into another table, breaking it underneath his weight.

All was silent for a few seconds as the Orc watched his fallen opponent, making sure that he was truly knocked out before letting his conjured pole slowly dissipate. He turned away from the wreckage and made his way through the stunned crowd to the bar. He noticed with a pleased expression that those in his way quickly moved out of it. He propped himself on the bar with a wide grin that clearly showed off his large canines. Fear was not his preferred persuasive device but it was certainly entertaining. He snapped his fingers, drawing the barmaid out of her reverie.

"I'm looking for leads, for particular information. You have any ideas where I might can find some?" The maid, a very pretty Redguard, swallowed before she answered, throwing him a slightly fearful look.

"There's a man here in Whiterun who boasts he knows all of the dealings within Skyrim. He'd be your best bet."

"What's his name and how can I find him?"

"His name's Rhaz, a local Khajit. Spends most of his time outside of the city. Your best bet to find him would be to ask the guards if they've seen him, try and track him down." The Orc nodded.

"Thank you. Also, is there another way I can pay for these damages? I'm a little strapped for gold at the moment." The maid pondered his question for several long moments before replying.

"Actually, yes."

Ysvor groaned as the rickety cart again jolted as it ran over a bump in the road. They had been traveling now for several hours, surely they were almost there? He didn't know how much more he could take. Besides, his present company wasn't exactly appreciated.

Across from him sat another Nord dressed in the robes of a priestess. Ysvor couldn't make out what deity she worshipped for her robes were nondescript. Hell, she had barely done more than glance at him since she got on back there at Kynesgrove. He had to wonder though, what was a priestess doing out here in the first place? He damn sure wished she wasn't here now; priestesses and all religious frivolities had always made him uncomfortable. He wasn't what you'd call a very religious man.

"You are Ysvor of the Shadow-Blade, correct?" She suddenly spoke up, jolting Ysvor out of his thoughts. He spared her a passing glance; it wasn't surprising she knew who he was.

"Yes. Yes I am. What of it?" The priestess ignored his question and instead stared intently at his face. She almost seemed to be searching for something. It made Ysvor very uneasy to say the least.

"You are a killer of men, a slayer of sons. You fight for gold and ignore your own Nordic people's suffering." Ysvor looked rather crossly at her at that comment.

"What do you mean I ignore?" He responded heatedly. "They seem to be fine to me."

"Our wives grieve at the loss of their husbands, our fathers watch in despair as the light leaves their own son's eyes, their fate sealed by the very men who created them. The Empire is a false pretense nowadays, yet they continue to try and force their government on us strong, proud Nords! We can stand alone under our own banner as the mighty Talos once did!"

"What's this have to do with me?" Ysvor interjected sharply, crossing his arms before his chest and closing his eyes. The priestess glared at him for interrupting her speech but moved on regardless.

"You hold great power. With you on their side, the Stormcloaks could easily topple the fake rule. Yet, you simply ignore the calls of your own people. Disgusting." Ysvor snapped his eyes open as he shot the priestess a look that demanded she shut her trap.

"The concerns of the many do not concern me. Ulfric is doing well for himself without me. I have other priorities. Now shut your trap, woman!" Yet the priestess did not heed his warning.

"Talos himself helped create the Empire we know today. He lead his people to conquer all of Tamriel. A _Nord_ did in a few years what Imperials couldn't do in centuries. And how do they repay us, repay _him_!? They cast us aside because they lack the strength to stand up to the elves! Tell me, Ysvor, do you wish to see your homeland run by elves? Will you watch her sons toil under an elven yolk, her daughters birth bastards for their sick enjoyment?"

"I said shut up, woman! You speak of things you know nothing about!" The priestess quieted at this, lowering her eyes as she accepted that she wasn't going to change the mercenary's mind. She had one more trick though.

"Many moons ago, I had a dream, a vision. In my dream, I saw a vast army of the elves marching across a snowy field. They were confident in step and arrogant in their cries. Yet, before them stood a much smaller army composed of Nords. They stood tall and proud as the elves drew upon them, not even flinching as the elves began loosening magic in their direction. Each spell was thwarted by a unseen barrier, a magical shield. I saw a single warrior step forward from the ranks, clad only in his furs with a strange blade in hand. He turned to the gathered Nords and raised his blade with a throaty war cry. The sole action spurred the Nords to rush the vastly larger army with no fear, no hesitation. The figure from before turned and looked me square in the eyes. Behind them, I could see the full blessings of Talos shining bright in his moonlight eyes." Ysvor tensed as she mentioned the eyes. He knew of only one other person with these eyes and they were certainly not leading an army from the grave. "Ysvor, don't you see? Talos has sent you here today so that I could tell you of this. Whether you accept it or not, your god calls for your aid. And he is not one to be denied." The cart jolted to a sharp stop and the priestess rose slowly. Ysvor watched her in stunned silence as she stepped off and walked towards a lonely hut.

A hooded figure walked through the afternoon sun deep in the wilds of the Whiterun plains. He knew as well as anyone that in Skyrim, the only thing you'd actually find on the roads was bandits and guards. His target was highly unlikely to be in the midst of bandits and just as unlikely to be enjoying the company of lawful guards. If his intel was correct, his target was currently among a very strange group of foreigners, a group that definitely wasn't welcome in the Nordic lands.

His attention was drawn to his surroundings as he heard a slight shuffle in the bushes next to him. His hand drifted to his left hip, where a leather sheathed shortsword rested. As his fingers closed around the brass hilt, his head snapped to his right, allowing his eyes to peer over his shoulder. There in the road was a small sabercat, barely more than a cub. The hooded man's scarlet eyes flashed at the cub, sending off a highly threatening vibe and giving the animal a peer into the violence of the stranger's past. The sabercat suddenly didn't seem nearly as confident and, with a noticeable fall in its shoulders, it turned around and dashed back into the bushes.

The man slowly smiled to himself as he released his sword's hilt, turning his shoulders back to the front and continuing on his way. He barely noticed the lush environment around him. Many would describe it as serene, beautiful even, yet the hooded man knew little of these words. He had no need of beauty in his line of work, at least not like this. Yet the man was spared from his rambling mind by the sudden appearance of a looming cave entrance. His eyes sharpened as his focus became the cave, his full attention returning to his surroundings.

It was this focusing that led him to notice the body outside of the cave. As he drew nearer, he made out more details. The woman was a middle-aged Nord dressed in the traditional fur armor so popular amongst Skyrim's residents. What drew the man's attention was not the dead woman but her wound. Someone had blasted a clean hole through her, the slightly singed skin giving credit to a very powerful pyromaniac. But to be able to hold this much control over a spell, to deal this much damage in such a restricted location?

The man shook it off and proceeded into the cave. His brow rose sharply as his nose picked up the unique scent of fresh blood. He briefly wondered about that, wasn't his target in this cave? Was this entire trip a waste of time then? His sharp eyes noticed another body laying half off of the upcoming, man-made ramp. Moving up he discovered it was actually only the upper half of the body; the lower half was lying a few yards away. The hooded man was now put on edge by his two disturbing finds.

He drew his shortsword as he proceeded deeper into what was quickly becoming a killing field. His dwarven blade was little comfort as he walked past the dozens of bodies. Each was beginning to look less like a battle and more like a slaughter. The hooded man had seen worse but it was always best to be cautious. A particular corpse a little ways up once again drew his eye. It was an older man, a Breton by the looks of him, dressed in the lower half of leather armor. Lying next to him was a small dagger but the hooded man ran his eyes over the Breton's hand, his well experienced and slightly augmented eyes picking up the subtle traces of lightning magic.

_ A mage, huh?_ The man wondered to himself. _Pretty funny then that he ended up like this._ The hooded man was of course referring to the long spike of ice sticking from the man's stomach. The spike held him pinned to the wall, impaling his charred body. For an obviously experienced mage to be bested in such a humiliating manner by his own specialty no less, it was enough to earn the mysterious killer some respect in the hooded man's eyes. He felt himself growing excited from meeting this almost artistic killer. Perhaps he would be willing to join his little assassin's guild.

He perked up as he heard the slight crash of steel on steel echoing from deeper in the cave. Quickly growing impatient, the hooded man dashed down the corridor, trusting that the assailant before him had taken care of the bandits between them. He noticed more of the same, bodies strewn across the cave floor and blood painting the ceiling. The bodies suddenly were no longer simple bandits but appeared more of his target's captors. They were dressed in heavy, woolen rags that seemed more suited to desert life than the frozen plains of Skyrim. The clashing sounds of conflict rang out once more, this time sounding significantly closer.

The hooded man rounded a corner and came across a small underground lake. Seeing no other alternative, he sheathed his blade and plunged in, the sounds of combat still ringing. He swiftly swam through the cool water until he noticed a small, wooden ramp. He never hesitated. Hitting the ramp with his arms gripping the sides to pull him up and clear of the water. His blade sang free as he pounded up the last few meters, his blood pumping as he expected a fight. The idea of spilling blood was enough to excite him alone; the fact that he could intimidate his target into revealing his secrets was just an added bonus.

What he received for his trouble was not what he expected. Standing before him was a massive Orc, one whose head nearly brushed the ceiling. The Orc had his right hand raised high in the air and his teeth were bared in the hooded man's direction. But the source of his rage was not the stranger's appearance but the Redguard who was also lifted high into the air by the Orc's right arm. The Orc eyed the newcomer, taking note of his aloof appearance, eyes wide with excitement, and his drawn blade. He lowered his arm slowly before giving the Redguard a final snarl and kicking him free of his now revealed war axe. The hooded man stared hard at him.

"Are you with these people?" The Orc asked, his deep voice rattling the hooded man. The man flashed an insane grin before answering.

"No. Tell me, Orc? Did you slaughter these people?" The Orc's eyes narrowed as he slightly raised his war axe, preparing for more bloodshed.

"They have been hounding a Redguard barmaid. I was hired to wipe them out. However, I came him for _him._" The Orc pointed behind him. The hooded man now realized they were not alone. Standing behind the Orc with his back to the wall was an average sized Khajit dressed in simple clothes. _Rhaz. _The hooded man thought, realizing he had completely forgotten about his mission.

The hooded man tensed himself, preparing for the battle that was surely to come. This Orc pursued Rhaz as well; therefore, he had to be eliminated. The hooded man could take no chances with details of his contract getting out. He noticed the Orc take a small step forward, axe still raised threateningly.

"I am Zhak gro-Nurzhuk, Captain of the-"

The Orc was allowed no time to finish his sentence. The hooded man shot forward as soon as he heard the name, his smile insane and his eyes wide with maniacal glee. This Orc was his target, all else failed to matter. Yet, his surprise stab was turned aside as Zhak threw his plated shoulder against the blade. Zhak whipped his axe around with enough force to smash through even the cavern wall behind them. The hooded man ducked the blow and sliced upwards with his sword. As he expected, the plate armor stood strong. His blade lacked the power to punch through but it never hurt to try; you never knew when an opponent didn't take good care of his equipment.

The Orc took the opportunity to kick the hooded assassin away. The assassin rolled with the kick, propelling himself back onto his feet as he rebounded off of the cave wall. Using the added momentum to his strike, he swung his blade downwards with nearly the same force as the Orc's strike. Zhak, being physically much larger, blocked the blow with his axe. What he didn't expect was the numbing feeling that lanced down his arm. His brow rose in surprise as he realized his foe was capable of using lightning magic while his axe began to slowly droop. The assassin licked his lips as he forced the much larger Orc backwards.

"Zhak gro-Nurzhuk. Hmhmhmhm, I know quite a lot about you. For instance, I know you wiped out a Thalmor patrol in Riverwood about a week ago. What you haven't been told is that the Thalmor don't take too kindly to people picking off their members." Zhak narrowed his eyes, the axe nearly pressed against his chest. The hooded man's smile turned into a frown in record time as the axe refused to budge.

"So you're an assassin then. Hmph, I don't have time for this." With these strong words came a feeling of numbness in the assassin's arms. He realized with a start that the Orc had used his own trick against him, fortifying his arm with lightning magic to counter the numbing effect.

The assassin was roughly thrown backwards like a doll, his back striking the wall with enough force to knock the breath out of his lungs. Yet, the assassin was given no time to rest as the Orc's massive steel fist raced towards his head. He rolled to the right, watching in silent awe as the Orc punched clean through the wall. From the point of contact came an explosion of fire, throwing the man to his back as he realized Zhak had fortified his fist with powerful but precise fire magic.

Not to be outdone, the assassin swiped his blade across the ground in front of him, summoning a veil of flames in the hopes of buying him some time. He was shocked as, while he was leaping backwards, the steel clad Orc burst through the flames. The fire seemed to part before the Orc's massive frame, allowing him to barge through unheeded. The assassin cursed as he was forced to roll out of the way. Zhak lashed his hand out, using a brief telekinetic spell to send the assassin flying back into the water.

As the hooded man, incredibly still hooded, broke the surface of the water, he watched the Orc aim his left hand towards him. He saw the sparkle of the lightning a second before it leapt for him. He dived as the magic struck the water hard, sending showers of rain flying into the air. In mere seconds, the magic had turned the entire lake into a boiling death trap. Zhak continued the spell for several long seconds, watching as his lightning danced and rolled across the surface of the water. He finally lowered his hands, watching for but a second more before he turned back to the Khajit.

"We should get moving." He spoke quickly. His eyes were drawn to the Khajit's, whose own where locked over his shoulder with a wide, fearful expression. His interest peeked, the Orc looked back.

Rising from the still bubbling lake was the form of the hooded man. His head hung forward and his eyes were hidden in shadow. His body was still, small sparkles of blue magic still lanced across his frame. His blade was pointed towards the floor and his feet weren't even touching the water. Zhak felt his brow furrow as he suddenly grew uneasy. Just what was this mysterious assassin?

"My name is Drakus. I'm the lead assassin for the Dark Dragons! Know my name as your blood spills from your lips!"

The crazed assassin somehow lunged forward, swinging his shortsword around in a full circle to build momentum. Zhak raised his axe to block but even he was forced a few feet back from the sheer power behind the blow. He gritted his teeth as he prepared to shove the assassin back only to have said man swing around to his other side. Zhak stumbled forward from the sudden lack of resistance. He followed his foe with his eyes, watching as the blade crept towards his unprotected neck.

Ysvor eyed the looming mountain in front of him. The carriage had dropped him off at Ivarstead, where he was to climb the seven thousand steps to High Hrothgar. He didn't exactly look forward to his climb but he would bare it. After all, his life may very well depend on it. Deciding he had wasted enough time, he took his first step up the path that would lead him to the rest of his life.

**Well, that's another chapter done. Yes, I know I left you all in the midst of a battle. Have no fear, you'll see the end of that fight in the next. I felt that I needed to throw Ysvor in here somewhere so I came up with the priestess idea on the fly. I would really appreciate it if you guys could take a second and give me your thoughts. All these readers and so few reviews really hurts my self-esteem! Any questions, ask and I'll answer them in the next AU.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Hey guys, Celt again. I wonder if anybody didn't understand the link I made between Saadi's, the Redguard waitress, quest and our information broker? Seems only natural that they would have kidnapped him. Also, Drakus possesses a very unique ability, one you'll see on display in this chapter. Nothing else really interesting so read on my fans, read on.**

**Ch. 11: Assassin's Attack**

The assassin, now named as Drakus, threw the far larger Orc into the cave wall with little effort. Zhak slid down the wall limply; the force of his helmeted head impacting the wall had dazed him. His vision was quite bleary and as such his foe appeared as three. Even the stunned Orc could see the stab meant to end the fight though. In response, he did the only guaranteed safe action he could: He blasted a wall of fire in front of him.

Drakus was easily able to leap back to avoid the spell but his temporary retreat bough the Orc time to get back to his feet. Zhak shook his head, clearing the last of his cobwebs, and raised his axe once more to fight. Now on guard for the assassin's underlying strength, Zhak watched Drakus with the watchful eyes of a mother hawk. He noticed his foe return the favor and their battle stalemated for several long tense minutes. Rhaz pressed his back farther into the wall, terrified by the ferocious display of strength both fighters showed.

Like a coiled spring, Drakus shot forward. Zhak noticed his feet were once again on solid ground as the smaller man ran at him. Zhak lowered his shoulder in an attempt to charge the man but was thwarted by the nimble killer flipping over his hunched frame. Drakus latched himself onto the opposite wall before darting back off. His blade hammered into the Orc's armored back, leaving a large dent but failing to penetrate. Zhak snarled as he lurched forward, his left foot sweeping out to catch his assailant.

Again, Drakus flipped over the attack and bounced off of the wall, building momentum for another powerful blow. The Orc caught on to his plan however and launched himself backwards into the unexpecting Nord's attack. The result was Drakus being sent flying over his shoulder as his blade met resistance long before it was expected to. Zhak pressed the advantage, closing the gap in seconds while his opponent rolled back to his feet. His axe was stopped by the steel blade once more. Both combatants were yet to deliver a severe blow, a fact which irked the Orc.

Drakus continued to grin like a madman at him. Zhak concluded that there was no doubt about the man's sanity before he used his superior size to push the madman back. But Drakus went with the blow, changing the direction of the shove and using the Orc's energy to power his own slash. Zhak sensed the sudden change in pressure as their weapons released each other and instinctively leaned his entire body backwards. The blade missed his abdomen by mere inches.

Zhak snapped back upright and went full offensive. A hard left swing forced the Nord to duck only to meet the Orc's fist. Drakus was momentarily knocked off of his feet by the uppercut but retained enough sense to throw his weight behind him. Once again, he avoided serious injury by the slightest of margins as he used his levitation abilities to slide across thin air. He straightened as once more the Massive Orc bore down on him, axe raised high over his head. In that single moment as the axe reached its pinnacle, both of the fighter's eyes met. Scarlet flashed against azure, the insane fire of the assassin's look meeting the cool and collected one of the seasoned Orc. In that single moment, his grin faltered as a snarl took its place.

Zhak's eyes widened as he sensed the magic being focused in the assassin's body. He hastily threw up a barrier but his breath still left him as the power of the spell struck him full force. The lightning bolt struck hard against his invisible shield, seeking entry but finding no room for faltering. Zhak grunted as the energy from the spell sent him skidding back. It was only when his feet touched the stone of the cave's wall did he feel the spell end. Immediately, he barged through the fading traces of his own barrier, watching in frustration as Rhaz the informant was ran through by that blade.

"Hehehe," Drakus chuckled, leaning in closer to the Khajit's ears but speaking loud enough that Zhak heard him quite clearly. "I needed you to help find this brute but it looks like you won't be needed after all. Nothing personal but I can't leave loose ends that know my identity." With that, the shortsword was twisted before being ripped free. The dramatic effect of blood splashing across the cave walls only served to fuel this insane person's lunacy. Zhak rushed him again only to be blasted back by a quick lightning bolt. He crashed to the ground as Drakus slowly walked over to him. "Ya know, I expected you to be far tougher than this. From what I know of Orcs, they love a good battle. Shame I didn't get to see the power of those 'Shouts' everyone's been talking about." Zhak raised his eyes to meet the burning orbs of Drakus, his brow coming together as he bared his teeth.

"You're sadly misinformed then. I'm not Dragonborn. I'm just a regular Orc." Drakus was given but a few seconds to digest those words before Zhak threw both of his hands in front of him. As sudden as the lightning spell had been, two jets of flame seared from his palms. Drakus was only able to gape as both spouts of flame struck him square, both punching clean, precise holes through his gut. He hissed in pain as the wounds instantly cauterized, leaving two fist sized holes in his stomach.

Though the action hurt him quite severely, the deranged assassin stayed on his feet, his hands rising to the holes in his body with an almost absent minded intention. Zhak allowed no time for that as he pinned the assassin to the wall behind him, tusks bared in an animalistic snarl as they were pressed very close to Drakus' face.

"Tell me, who hired you?" The assassin laughed in the Orc's face, his intimidation tactics not even phasing the Nord in the slightest. Zhak slammed the man harder into the wall. "Dammit, answer me?!"

"Why? So you can go and kill them? It's bad for business, oaf."

"You'll not be having any more business after today! Besides, there are other ways to get the information I need." Zhak spoke menacingly as he raised his axe once more.

As the bladed head sung into the Nord's neck, there was no squelching sound, no blood. Zhak's eyes widened as he noticed his axe phase right through the Nord before said Nord phased right through him. Drakus turned and gave him an overly cheery wave as he began to disappear in a collection of lights.

"It's been a long time since someone pushed me this far. I'll see you soon enough, Zhak gro-Nurzhuk. Until then." And with those foreboding words, all traces of the assassin disappeared completely, leaving Zhak standing there quite confused.

Ysvor stood at the top of the long climb, his bloody sword in hand. No-one deemed to inform him that the steps were inhabited by a few local trolls. Still, he had escaped unharmed so making a fuss would be pointless. Instead, he turned his attention to the giant, engraved, steel doors in front of him. With a final steadying breath, he pushed against the left one, keeping his blade ready just in case.

Inside, he bore witness to a short hallway of sorts that seemed to lead into a great common room. He caught a brief glance of a robed figure, complete with hood, moving gracefully through the light of a nearby fire. He cautiously inched his way forward. Though he had been told they were of pacifist's beliefs, he wouldn't endanger his life so recklessly. Especially not after his run in with the trolls. He approached the point where his hallway would open into the room and tensed himself in the event of a fight at his intrusion.

"Welcome, Dragonborn." He started as he was heralded by a Nord man dressed in the blue, woven robes of the Greybeards. Ysvor nervously turned to his right, where the man stood amidst his fellow monks. "We have been expecting you." Still taking the utmost caution, Ysvor posed his single question.

"What do you want with me?" The Nord's eyes sparkled with a look of knowing, as if he had expected the question which, honestly, he may have.

"What we want is irrelevant. Your purpose is for you to decide, after you fulfill your destiny of course. We are merely here to show you the paths, not choose which you shall take." Ysvor narrowed his eyes at the mysterious speech.

"I don't understand. What destiny, what paths? Better start talking some sense, old man. My patience wears thin."

The greybeards bristled at the remark, but the one who had spoken waved them back. He turned his unremarkable brown eyes back toward Ysvor's silver ones. His mouth moved in the motion of speech yet the word was like no other that Ysvor had ever heard of before. It was alien but familiar at the same time. Ysvor felt as if he should know the word but his attentions soon returned as the room slightly trembled and he felt his knees give way beneath him. The shaking became more violent as he inched closer to the ground, his bared teeth the only sign of his struggle against this power. And then, just like that, it all stopped.

"I have just shown you the power of a Thu'um, a shout, which is the Way of the Voice itself." The monk spoke, his voice normal and completely understandable. Ysvor pushed himself to his feet and glared at the Greybeards. "But I believe you have already experienced this power for yourself. The word you used to defeat the dragon, _Fus_, is what is known as a Word of Power. They are essential to the Way of the Voice and each one is quite powerful." Ysvor stood back to his feet as one of the Greybeards moved forward to nudge the one speaking. A few subtle words were spoken between them and the speaker's eyes widened.

"Ah yes." He spoke as the other monk drew back. "Living in such seclusion has left us with poor social etiquette. My name is Arngeir, I speak on the behalf of those undisciplined enough to lack the ability. I am the closest thing to a leader of the Greybeards you'll find." Ysvor looked at the others in conclusion, many questions now bouncing around his skull. Arngeir's inviting expression prompted him to ask them.

"What do you mean, the others can't speak?" Arngeir chuckled.

"No. No, they have trained with the Voice to make their own powerful, but in doing so, they have lost the ability to speak as we do without causing an avalanche or something. I alone have developed my Thu'um to the point of bilingual communications." Ysvor stared at the other monks with shock in his eyes. They couldn't even talk anymore? Was this the fate that awaited him? Before he could ask, Arngeir had scooped down to retrieve his blade from where it had fallen during the rumbling. "I would appreciate it if you put away your blade. We mean you, or anyone else, no harm." Ysvor sheathed his word with a disgruntled look. The more he learned of this "Voice" the less enthused he was to take up its study.

"What happened just now? The rumbling and all?"

"I showed you the power of a Thu'um, a Shout. By speaking a Word of Power, you can channel power into your own voice which creates what is known as a Shout. It is an ancient magic, one which the common world has nearly forgotten. The Word I spoke to you meant 'fate' in our tongue."

"Wait, wait, wait," Ysvor interjected. "You mean these Words of Power aren't even in our language?" Arngeir turned around and strode to the middle of the large room, beckoning for Ysvor to follow him.

"Young Dragonborn, you have much to learn of the Voice. Listen well, for I shall not repeat this knowledge again. The Words of Power are from the ancient tongue spoken by dragons in ages long since lost. Mortals learned to speak the language themselves but could never harness the true power. Back then, dragons actually ruled over all of Tamriel if not the world. As such, they enslaved the other races, using their powerful Thu'um as the ultimate weapon. There were those amongst the dragons, however, who saw the unjustness in these actions. They felt it was too cruel a fate, to be dictated all their lives. The great dragon, Paarthurnax, took pity upon the mortals and began to secretly teach them how to use the dragon's greatest gift against them.

To make a long and irrelevant story short, the mortals overthrew the dragons and this lead to the creation of Tamriel as we know it today. All you need to know is that is that it is because of the actions of Paarthurnax that you stand before us today." Arngeir turned to look Ysvor in the eye. "Ysvor, we believe you to be Dragonborn, a mortal born with the soul of a dragon."

"How can that be?" Came Ysvor's sudden question.

"Nobody knows for certain how it began. Many say that Akatosh himself bestowed the gift on a slave queen by giving her the Amulet of Kings, which created the Empire we know today. Don't let the past concern you. Keep your focus on the here and now and learn your history later. The Dragonborn is the only individual capable of using the power of the Thu'um without any proper training. We don't have concrete evidence but we felt the power of a Thu'um several days ago. It was when the dragon was fought. So, the question becomes, are you really Dragonborn? Show us, use the Thu'um on me right now." Ysvor glanced around nervously. Not only was this history lesson a lot to take in, but this guy now wanted him to use that power on him. Ysvor hesitated, remembering well the effects it had on the dragon which was far larger than Arngeir. But the monk beckoned him to strike with an air of utmost confidence. Ysvor closed his eyes as he breathed in.

"_Fus!"_ And once again, he felt that strange power flow from his mouth. He opened his eyes just in time to see Arngeir be struck by the blast. The monk, his eyes widened in surprise, was sent skidding back even though he had been braced. As the blast died off, Ysvor noticed the sudden fidgeting of the Greybeards.

"It would seem that even amongst the Dragonborn, your voice is powerful." Arngeir spoke up as he righted himself. He shook his head in bewilderment before seeing Ysvor's blank look. "You see, young Dragonborn, a Shout is made up of three words of power. The Shout you just used, Unrelenting Force, was made up of only one word, _Fus._ Normally, it wouldn't have been nearly as strong as only word was used. Put all three together and well, you'll have quite a powerful Shout." Arngeir motioned for one of the others to step forward. "Master Einarth will show you the second word of Unrelenting Force." Master Einarth spoke an unrecognizable word, causing ripples in the air from his mouth to the ground.

There, a new image was taking an ethereal shape. It was a word similar to the word Ysvor had learned in Bleak Falls Barrow, sharing the sharp angles and sweeping arches of what was apparently the dragon tongue. Ysvor looked over the word but felt not the slightest glimmer of understanding in him. He stepped closer in attempt to see clearer, even going as far as to bend down. The word suddenly began glowing and understanding filled the Nord's eyes as a mist of golden light floated up towards him. He stood tall as he became aware of the word at his feet.

"You may can learn the words but that is only half of the battle. The word you just learned, _Ro_, is the second word to Unrelenting Force, as I have already said. You can't use the word with the Shout to its fullest potential yet. Even a Dragonborn would require training here to heighten and discipline their Voice. But, you have a unique gift, an ability to absorb the souls of fallen dragons. The others could not use this gift because there were no dragons. As you have surely discovered, you absorb more than simply their souls. A fraction of their personality, a piece of their mind, resides within you. It is this piece which will allow you to understand the way a new Word of Power is meant to be utilized. You tap into the dragon's centuries of experience creating a very useful shortcut. Seeing as how we have a current lack of dragons, Master Einarth will allow you to tap into his experience, granting you the understanding of _Ro_."

From the monk, another golden light shone, one that encompassed Ysvor in a swirling shroud. He felt the transfer of knowledge, felt himself gain the slight insight into the pacifist's life. He was shut out before he was able to truly understand what was happening as the information he needed to know became apparent within his own mind.

"Now, let us see how you handle using a brand new word in the same shout." Arngeir stepped back as another of the order spoke an unfamiliar word. A ghostly image began to rise from the ground in the center of the common room. Once fully revealed, it was a transparent copy of the Greybeard who had Shouted. Ysvor, knowing what to do without being told, spoke up without hesitation. He felt it somewhere inside of him, an unknown factor driving him, telling him what to do. It felt good. It felt natural.

"_Fus, Ro!" _Like a tornado exploded from his lips, a blue halo blasted into existence. It barreled its way to the center of the room, rolling across the ghost and expanding even further into the room. Even Arngeir, who was almost behind Ysvor, stumbled backwards from the power of his Shout. Twice more this was repeated until the Greybeards were confident in his competence with the stronger Shout.

"I must say, to see the abilities of a Dragonborn firsthand…It's just as the legends tell: A truly incredible feat. We have no time to dawdle I'm afraid. Let us go to the courtyard to observe how you handle an entirely new Shout." Ysvor, with uncertain eyes casting around, followed the hooded monks to the snowy courtyard outside. He had to shield hi eyes from the light of dusk for several moments. He had been inside for some time now.

Arngeir and the others were awaiting him with his new word already etched into the stone. For pacifists, they sure seemed impatient. Ysvor trudged down the steps, moving closer to the word so as to take it into himself. This new word gave of several different feelings, one of which was the sense of distance. As the word was absorbed, he found himself unable to understand suck basic things as depth perception and length. His sense of distance was jumbled up to be accurate. And then things settled and he noticed Arngeir had already set up by a pillar near a gate.

"Master Borri will allow you to tap into his understanding of _Wuld_, the first word of Whirlwind Sprint. We will then demonstrate and see if you can match him." Again, the golden light surrounded him and he felt the confusing sense of memories that were not his own press against his conscious. Once settled, Master Borri moved to stand in between the pillar which Arngeir rested against and one directly across from him. He turned towards the gate and nodded to show his readiness.

Arngeir pulled a lever on the pillar, causing the gate to open. Master Borri spoke the word as he took a single step forward. Ysvor watched with wide eyes as the elder Greybeard blurred across the snow at an impossible speed. He easily passed through the gates several seconds before they closed again, emphasizing the time scale for failure. Ysvor shook himself, he had no time to be awestruck by these old monks. He stepped up to the spot where Borri had been standing mere seconds ago.

Arngeir pulled the lever again and the gates reopened. Ysvor took a deep breathe, having no idea what to expect, and shouted. He almost cried out as soon as the word had left his mouth. Everything around him blurred becoming one giant distortion that would have made him throw his guts up if not for the incredible pressure suddenly applied to his body. He dimly became aware of the distortion moving, some colors growing larger and some growing smaller. Most notably was the greyish blue that began to dominate his vision. And then, just like that, it stopped.

He took several deep inhales as his world resolidified into the stable shapes he was familiar with. He nearly dropped to his knees, only his pride and will keeping him from falling over in shock. He dimly noticed Master Borri was a lot closer; in fact it looked like the old man had stepped out of his way. Ysvor, slowly regaining control of his breathing, looked over his shoulder. Sure enough, he had passed through the gate and crossed the considerable distance in no time at all. He grinned as a thought began tugging at the back of his mind. _I wonder what other things I can learn?_

**Let me know what you guys think about this. I'm trying to project the whole Thu'um process as a realistic concept. Unfortunately, this is a dull chapter for the most part. I feel like I sort of rushed through it. If there's something I may not have explained well enough or your just plain confused about, tell me. I'll do my best to correct it. Rest easy, the next chapter is gonna be full of action and possible drama. Until next time.**


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